Eyes Closed, Heart Open
by tuesday blue
Summary: Do not read this one. Read the Author's Cut. It's far better. More interesting and has a better plotline. We are all bound by our fortunes. (And money makes slaves of us all.) Complete
1. Part I

DISCLAIMER, DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters in these works are not mine. They belong to Disney because I was not smart enough to think of them first. I am not attempting to claim them as my own, nor am I making any money off of this venture. However, Josephine, Maggie, Annabel, Georgia, Mantovanni are mine, and any other characters you don't recognize from the movie are mine also. I've no problem with sharing them. But hey, people, stealing is not nice. Ask and it shall be given unto you.  
  
Eyes Closed, Heart Open  
  
1898, Somewhere in Rural North Carolina  
  
The lights flickered in the car as the train passed yet another unrecognizable town. A small figure of a girl turned over in her seat, her efforts to fall asleep once again failing. She sat up sleepily, blinked her tired eyes and squinted from the flashing lights. She looked out of her window to see the landscape race by. Another town.  
  
"This is the farthest you've ever been," she thought to herself, "the farthest you've ever been from home. You can't turn back now. You just can't."  
  
Every foot, every inch the trained moved was the farthest she'd ever been. She was leaving her past and her life behind her, but not because she'd wanted to. She had no other choice. There was no other choice. Everything was gone. It was all gone, all changed. She had to change with it.  
  
She looked around the dim car at the few other passengers around her and wondered why they were here. What they were leaving, where they were going. She turned her head to the left and saw a group of dark figured huddled together. It was a mother and her two children. A small tear formed at the corner of the girl's left eye, and she let it fall.  
  
"There's no going back. You can't. There's nothing to go back to. Now, just go to sleep. Sleep." She turned over to face the wall and tried, once again and more desperately, to fall asleep.  
  
NEW YORK CITY, MAY 1900  
  
A group of girls was gathered backstage in a line, costume, perfumed, and made up. They were dancers, waiting for their cue to go on. Outside, in the hall of one of the many vaudeville theatres in Brooklyn, the room was alive with applause,the yells and catcalls of the many male patrons. A small, dark girl was at the back of the line. Unlike the other girls, she was quiet, her eyes closed, her painted red mouth silently mouthing words. Her left foot was tapping rhythmically tapping on the floor, tap, tap..tap, tap, tap. A single lily adorned the curls in her dark hair.  
  
Suddenly the band started playing a lively tune, and there was an immediate rustle of skirts and feathers and the clatter of high-heeled shoes on the wooden floor amongst the dancers as they transformed themselves from giggling girls to performers. They began to walk out onto the stage, in perfect time with the music. The last one opened her eyes, as if she had suddenly come to. She plastered her widest, most winning smile across her face and moved with them.  
  
"And now," boomed the announcer's voice, "direct from the Mantovanni Theatre, the Mantovanni Bellas!"  
  
The stage became alive with colour and dancing as the girls grouped in an inverted triangle formation. The small one was at the back, the point of the triangle, almost hidden from view. She stepped in time with them, one, two, three, step, kick, step. They started to sing in perfect harmony,  
  
"My love, you know that you're my love But you don't want my love You don't want my love no more. So now you're gone."  
  
With the word "gone," the crowd of girls parted, to reveal the one in back. The spotlight shone on her, and she flashed a dazzling smile that emitted its own light. "Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed again, "Miss Lily Fox!"  
  
The crowd exploded in cheers, whistles, and applause. She threw up her arms, lowered her eyelids, cocked her head, and paused, shimmering in the light before she began to sing in her most seductive, honey dripping voice,  
  
"But baby, you're no good for me, You leave me all alone. While you go out wandering I'm crying at home.  
  
So, I won't love you No, I don't need you, I don't want you no more But baby won't you please come home?"  
  
The crowd was on their feet, swaying in time with the music, cheering, shouting for more. An "I love you Lily!" or "Marry me Lily!" could be heard every few minutes. In the back of the house was a group of boys, street urchin, tough-looking boys, newsies, no doubt. They were all cheering and carousing with the crowds, standing, and singing along with the girls. That is all except for one. One lone, serious looking boy was seated, almost in the shadows. He intense expression gave no suggestion that he was enjoying himself as much as his fellow boys, but his eyes followed Lily's every move.  
  
~********~  
  
After the performance, the girls retreated into the backstage dressing room to change and make ready for their evening performance. There was bustle, chatter, and clatter as the girls undressed, brushed their hair, took off their stage makeup, hung up dresses, put on new dresses, and talked amongst themselves. Lily sat alone at a table in the corner. She slowly removed the lily from her hair and put it in a box on the table. She took a white handkerchief and started to remove her red lipstick from her mouth when there was a knock at the door.  
  
It was not uncommon to have visitors bearing gifts of flowers or requesting dinners with the girls after a performance. So this knock was not regarded as anything out of the ordinary. Another of the girls, Annabel answered the door, expecting the usual flowers, candies, or admiring fan. What she found were two tough-looking, strapping boys with no sign of any of the usual gifts.  
  
"Yeah, what do you want?" Annabel asked them.  
  
"We're here tah see Lily Fox," they answered. "Sure, hold on a sec," said Annabel turning inwards toward the room of girls, "Lily, ya got visitors!"  
  
"Who is it? What do they want?" Lily said without turning. "Who are ya? And what do ya want?" Annabel asked the boys. One of them replied, "Spot Conlon wants tah see Lily Fox." Annabel turned back towards Lily, "They says Spot Con.." "Yeah, I heard them," interrupted Lily facing the boys at the door. She got up from her seat and walked over towards the door.  
  
"Which one of you is Spot Conlon?" she asked them. "We ain't Spot Conlon," answered the one on the right, "He sent us here tah say that he wants to sees ya and we came over here to get ya."  
  
"Do you just do whatever this Conlon kid says?" Lily asked them, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah," they answered. "Why?" Lily countered. "Cause he's Spot Conlon, and ya do what Spot Conlon tells ya tah do when he tells ya tah do it," the one on the left replied.  
  
"Oh," said Lily, narrowing her eyes, "well you can just go back and tell Mr. Spot Conlon that when he's man enough to do his own bidding, he can waltz on over here and request the pleasure of my company himself. Goodbye." She went to shut the door, and as it was shutting she heard, "Spot Conlon ain't gonna be too happy wit dat..."  
  
~*~  
  
And he wasn't.  
  
When his boys reported back to him after the unfortunate encounter with Miss Fox, he was sitting in his favourite spot on the Brooklyn piers. It was almost a throne, high and hallowed. After he was told, a strange, almost confused look came over his face. The expression stayed for a few seconds and then transformed into a look of spitting rage. Who did this broad think she was? Did she not know who he was? Did she not know that he was Spot Conlon and that no one told Spot Conlon what he could and could not do? His knuckles began to turn white as he grip around his cane tightened. His jaw clinched.  
  
It was a while before he finally spoke, but when he did, his voice came out in a mutter, almost a growl. "Ain't nobody gonna tell Spot Conlon no," he spat, "Nobody."  
  
~********~  
  
Later that night, almost midnight, after the last performance was over, and the lights on the theatre were shut off, Lily stood at her dresser in her room above the left wing of the stage. She was dressed in her white nightgown, getting ready for bed. She was running a brush through her long raven hair when she looked up into her mirror and saw something moving. A figure, tall and thin, shadowy and slow was coming through the window behind her. She thought to herself, "this is what you get for leaving your window open in New York." She was frightened, but she knew she could not let her panic come through.  
  
Instead, she remained calm and acted as if she had not seen anything. The continued brushing her hair, slowly, with her right hand, while with her left hand, she fumbled over her dresser top, reaching quietly and slowly for something. Suddenly, her fingers found what they were looking for and grasped around a knife. It small and sharp, with a gilded silver handle: a ladies weapon obvious never meant to be used. The gift-giver (Lily couldn't remember who he was, "but God Bless Him anyway," she thought.) probably never imagined that Lily would actually keep it sharp to use if the occasion ever arose. And such occasion was arising over her left shoulder.  
  
The figure approached her, creeping silently. Lily continued on as though she were completely unaware of the happenings behind her, while her hand gripped the weapon tightly. Just as it was upon her, Lily moved the knife behind her back. The figure stopped suddenly, as it came directly upon a knife beginning to poke into its belly. Without turning around, and in the most calm voice imaginable, Lily said, "Now, who are you, and just what the hell do you think you are doing climbing into my bedroom?"  
  
She turned around to face him and found herself looking into the stormy blue-gray eyes of a boy. Her heart stopped beating at that very moment, but not from terror. Something about those eyes, something about the way they pierced right through her and left her breathless. After she'd came to back to herself, she found she was inches away from the face of a tall boy with a gray cap and blonde brown hair falling into his eyes. His face did not show an afraid expression, but his eyes betrayed him with a hint of fear and confusion gleaming in them. He was silent for a moment, and backpedaled and almost stuttered before he said most assuredly, "I'm Spot Conlon, and I can climb into anywheres I damn well please."  
  
Lily's eyes opened wide at the recognition of the name and at the incredible nerve this kid had for marching into her bedroom and stating his right to be there. "I don't believe it," she said incredulously, "the same spineless Spot Conlon that sent his minions earlier to do his bidding is now marching into my bedroom and trying to tell me that he's welcome because he wants to be here. Ha! You've gotta lot of nerve, kid. Now kindly see your way out the way you came in before I alert the entire house of your presence or just decide to use this lovely little toy in my hand to gut you from nose to belly."  
  
She turned away, thinking that surely this kid could not have enough gall to stay a second longer. She put the knife back down on her dresser and picked up her brush again to continue getting ready for bed. When she finally decided it was safe to look up and see if he was completely out of the window, she was beyond surprised with what she saw. Not only had he not completely made it out yet, he was standing there, feet planted to the ground and confident as hell that he was not going anywhere. She laughed as she said, "And somehow you're still here."  
  
"And I ain't leavin'."  
  
"Excuse me?" she said. "Just who the hell do you think you are? Wait, don't answer that. I know the answer. You're Spot Conlon and obviously you're deluded enough to think that the world is your own private playground.."  
  
"I said I ain't leavin.' I'se come in here now because you was rude to me dis aftanoon and wouldn't tawk to me when alls I wanted tah do was tah tell ya that I liked your song."  
  
"You came up here in the middle of the night to tell me that you liked my song?" she asked incredulously.  
  
"Yeah, and dere you go swingin dat thing round, tellin' me you'se gonna slice me open. And I got noive?'  
  
Lily laughed in utter disbelief of what was happening.  
  
"An now youse laughin' at me?" He walked over to her until he was almost in her face. "Ain't nobody laughs at Spot Conlon and gits away wit it!"  
  
"Ain't nobody gets to do anything to Spot Conlon, master of the universe, do they?" Lily retorted.  
  
"Hey." Spot began to yell, but then stopped. The look on his face softened and his voice's tone suddenly changed, "how come ya don't talk like everybody else round here? How come ya don't even talk like ya sing?'  
  
"Excuse me?" This was all getting to be a little to much for her. "One minute you're threatening me with 'ain't nobody talks like dat tah Spot Conlon' and the next you're wondering about my voice? Are you insane?"  
  
"Nah, I'm serious," he said, "ya ain't from round dese parts are ya?"  
  
Lily looked confused, but then her face somewhat fell as she said softly, "No, I came here about two years ago. I'm from, uh, Charleston. South Carolina, you know?" She still clung to her knife as she talked, just incase things took a violent turn and she needed to wave it around in his direction, but her grip was looser now. She fingered it, used it to accent her words. "I, mean, I didn't think I'd ever end up here, but I kind of had to. I didn't have much of a choice." She was talking too much, saying things about herself that no one, especially not the conceited Spot Conlon needed to know. She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn with embarrassment. She stopped talking.  
  
"What?" he asked, "do I scare ya? Go on, don't be fraid of da likes of me. And put dat knife down. Ya making me noivous waving dat think round like that. I ain't gonna hurt ya. I got nothin'. Ya can search me body if ya want."  
  
She laughed again, nervously. She couldn't believe that she was here in her room, talking to some pompous boy about her life and her voice or anything else for that matter.  
  
"So, um, an educated speakin goil like yaself, how did ya end up here, in dis joint? Ya couldn't have done somthin' else?"  
  
"Oh yeah, I'm sure I could," Lily replied, "I could go to work in some factory, slave away all day in some hot shop sewing buttons on men's coats..no, that's not for me. I've got to breathe. So I ended up here. I mean it's not the best, but it's easy for the most part, after you get used to fending off sex craving men's dirty hands and you learn to deal with catty girls who'll hate you if you're given a song to sing and they're not. But the pay's ok, and I've got a roof over my head and food to eat." She sighed. "Truth is, when I left Charleston, I never imagined I'd end up here. New York was some kind of fantasy land to me, somewhere where I'd imagined I could do anything. And then I actually got here and found out that it wasn't. And that all I had was my "pretty" face. So, I got word of this place and came to try out. I got the job because Mr. Mantovanni liked me, or rather, he liked my face and my legs. He spent the first year trying to convince me to become his 'little missus' and have his children so that one of him could take over the theatre instead of his weasely son that he didn't like very much. He gave me my first solo and made me a star. Well, as big of a star as you can get in a place like this."  
  
Spot interjected, "And he gave ya this presidential-like suite thing all by yaself."  
  
"No," Lily continued, "I had a roommate, but she left about three months ago. She got married so some big shot that liked her tits and her pretty rosy face. But that's a different story. So anyway, after Mr. Mantovanni died about a year ago, and his weasel of a son took over, he kept me here because I kept the money rolling in. And how Junior Mantovanni likes his money. So, here I am. I sing and I dance, and I keep the fellows happy."  
  
Spot smile a mischievous smile. "Um so howbouta little private singin and dancin' for me right now?"  
  
Lily shook her head. "Just when I was telling myself that you were as pigheaded as I though you were, you go and prove to me that you are just as pigheaded and cocky as you were the moment you walked in here." She picked up her knife, "Now Spot Conlon, I've said too much, it's late, and I've had just about enough of you for tonight, so get your conceited self back out of my window."  
  
Spot frowned. "Hey, nobody tells Spot Conlon what to do."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard this story before. But I'm telling you, and my knife will tell you again if you chose not to listen to the first warning."  
  
He threw his hands up and backed away, "Alright, alright, I'm leavin'." He climbed out of her window and sat and the fire escape and said, "You an yer knife have a pleasant night Miss Lily." He began to climb down.  
  
"Hey Conlon!" she called after him. He stopped and looked back in. "It's Josephine."  
  
"Then why the hell you be callin yaself Lily Fox if dat ain't ya name?" he asked.  
  
"Josephine is not exactly a name that catches one's attention and rolls off of one's tongue as well as.." She threw her hand up in the air and said dramatically, "Lily Fox!"  
  
Spot smiled and said, "Josephine." He began climbing down the fire escape as he said "G'night kid!"  
  
Lily ran over to the window as she called out, "Conlon, don't call me kid..." But as she looked down, he was gone. Vanished completely. She shrugged and turned her back to the window, leaning on the sill.  
  
"That kid is going to be trouble," she said to herself, "This conceited, pig-headed, sarcastic kid is going to be more far trouble than he's worth. Josephine, you think by now you'd actually think before getting yourself into situations like this. God, use your head every once in a while. You can't go doing things like this. You've got to stick to your plan. Remember the plan? The plan has got to work. You've gotta make it work this time. You're twenty years old. God, you're not a kid anymore."  
  
She turned back to the window. The moon was out and in its full splendor. It illuminated her face and hand as she reached for the curtain and pulled it back. She looked out onto the empty street, maybe still hoping to see him there. Then she turned her gaze out, toward the city. "One day," she thought to herself, "one day, I'm leaving you behind." She was talking to the city as much as she was talking to herself.  
  
Then, a smile played across her mouth and she touched it. "He does have a nice smile," and then she stopped catching herself, realizing what she was saying. "No, you're tired and delusional. You need to go to bed before you turn into a complete crazy. Just go to sleep. Sleep."  
  
To be continued in Part II... 


	2. Part II

Part II  
  
Voices. Hushed at first then growing louder, echoing. Then, a woman's cackle-like laughter and a slamming door. The enveloping darkness, growing even more dark by the moment.  
  
Walking down a long, deserted hallway. Cold wind blow, coming from nowhere. Chilling and freezing shiver. Walking further, a small voice comes from behind. "Help me," it cries. Help who? Who's voice is calling? Who needs to be helped? "Help me," it calls out again. Who are you? Where are you? "Josephine," the voice says softly. "Josephine." No, you can't be. You can't be. I'm Josephine, I'm-  
  
The wind blows again. It is even more icy. Shivering. Can't stop shivering. Suddenly a cold hand reaches out. It grabs. It is a man, his face in shadows. He is big and strong. He pulls. On the ground. Struggling to get away. Can't get away from his grasp, can't pull away. He is laughing. Laughing and humming. That song. That familiar song. He is overpowering. Can't get away. Crying. Crying. Shrieking in terror but nothing is coming out. Nothing. Struggling, can't wrench free from his hands. His huge, icy hands. He comes nearer. His laughing, his humming. The shadows fall from his face. His eyes. Those eyes! Eyes filled with the look of smug content and insanity..piercing...Panic. Filled with panic! Can't break free...can't get free!  
  
She awoke suddenly, violently trembling. Her body was drenched with cold sweat, her nightgown clinging to her body. She was breathing hard, nearly panting. Her eyes searched the room, for a sign of her attacker. The same icy wind blew through her room and she pulled the blanket on her bed around her, clinging to it, her arms wrapped around her body.  
  
It had all been a dream. It had been a horrible, freakishly real nightmare. Her mouth emitted a quiet, "Claudette," as she felt the same hollow pain in her chest that she had felt nearly three years ago. She felt the cold wind again and looked over to the window. She had left it open and the night was blowing chills into her room. Gathering the blanket around her and clinching it closed with her left hand, she slowly got out of bed and walked toward the window to shut it.  
  
As her right hand reached up to close the window, she looked out once again at the moonlit city and thought again of the boy that had visited her a few hours earlier. She grimaced as she thought of his unashamed cockiness and the way she had let him into her private life by practically spilling out her life story to him, even telling him her real name. Those were intimate things she said to him, thoughts that she had but told no one. Why did she suddenly decide that it would be fine to tell this conceited, know-nothing street urchin the inner-workings of her mind? Why?  
  
"When are you gonna learn, Josephine?" she asked herself in a whisper. That had settled it. She had made up her mind that she was not letting this kid into her world. She had her life and she had her plans. She wasn't going to let anyone interfere again. Things were going to be different this time. So, Mr. Spot Conlon could do what he would, but she wasn't going to care either way.  
  
She closed the window and pulled the curtains closed. Gathering up her blanket around her once more, she trod over to her bed and lied down. She closed her eyes, tried to force all thoughts from her mind, and like so many other nights, told herself to sleep.  
  
Two hours, 47 minutes, and 29 seconds later, her body finally obeyed.  
  
~*****~  
  
The next day, she and the rest of the girls were getting ready for the usual nighttime performance. She was standing at her dressing table, leaning over it to get closer to the mirror while she put a few touches of rouge to her cheeks. "Damn freckle," she said out loud, rubbing at a freckle at the end of her nose with her pinky.  
  
"Hey, dontcha be dammin' that one freckle," spoke the girl standing beside her, Maggie, a native Brooklynite and full blooded Irish redhead, who was damming her own freckles under her breath while trying to drown them in powder. "Least ya ain't got a who face fulla 'em." Maggie O'Malley was tall and brazen, with flaming red hair and a loud mouth that matched her hair and spoke the slang of New York perfectly.  
  
Lily laughed. "Maggie, you've lived in Brooklyn your entire life," she said, "did you ever hear of a kid named Spot Conlon." (Damn. She couldn't believe she had actually the thought of him appear in her mind, much less let it slip out of her mouth). She hated that she was thinking about him. She hated even more that someone else knew that she was thinking about him. She started to work on applying her lipstick so that maybe no one would notice the look of self-hatred on her face and begin asking questions.  
  
"Yeah," Maggie replied, "shoah I'se hearda him. Ya live heah for twenty one years and o'coise ya hear of him. He's some kid whose some big shot wit da Brooklyn newsies up in dah north. He's like some king ta dem or something,' and all dah rest o'dem are like his liddle followas. He's some real big shot. Crazy, too, I heah. Everybody's afraid o'him. He beats poor suckas to wittin one inch o'der life if dey get on his bad side. E's got a real love affeah with da bottle, too, if ya know what I mean. Why do ya ask?"  
  
Lily realized that she had revealed herself and must now save herself from any further embarrassment. "Well, you know, yesterday," she quickly and nonchalantly as possible said, "he sent some of his 'subject' in here to say that he wanted to see me. And I'd never heard of him before then, so I didn't go. So, um, you know, I was just wondering what kind of arrogant little thing he was."  
  
"Yeah, dat shoah sounds like Spot ta me," Maggie answered. "Always getting udder people to do his biddin' while he just sits on his liddle throne an' waits." She paused to hold a hairpin in her mouth while her fingers twisted a curl. She took the pin from her mouth, pinned the curl and then said, "But ya should feel special. It ain't everyday dat Spot comes a'visitin. And it ain't jes' anyone dat he visits when he does. He's quite a charma I heah. A real ladies man, if ya use da toim 'man' loosely. Every goil in the da whole city is eidder in love wit 'em or scared of 'em. He gots himself a new goil every week. Hey, Lil, maybe you'se dah pick o'dah week."  
  
There was a knock at the door and both girls looked toward it. A voice boomed out, "Two minutes, girls!"  
  
Maggie looked at Lily and said in a hushed, dramatic voice, "Showtime!" She then pinned her last curl in place, while Lily put her foot up on the chair to fasten the buckle on her right shoe. Both grabbed their feathers and hurried out of the door.  
  
~*****~  
  
It was halfway through their second song when Lily finally looked up into the balcony and had a pair of stormy blue-gray eyes meet her own. She nearly stopped singing to gasp at the realization of who it was. He was sitting alone, quietly, and without his usual tribe of boys around him. Although she managed to keep singing, she however, did not manage to not trip over her own foot. It was just a slight and almost insignificant stumble, but it took everything she had to recover from it and keep in step.  
  
As she continued dancing and singing, she felt her cheeks burn with the embarrassment of someone noticing her stumble. They burned even more when she thought about the owner of the pair of stormy-blue eyes noticing her stumble.  
  
During the instrumental part of their number, when the band played and all she had to do was a few easy kicks and a little skirt shaking, she managed to inch her way over to Maggie. "Maggie!" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "Guess who's here...the King of Brooklyn!."  
  
Maggie looked surprised and stifled a giggle. "Seems His Majesty took a fancy tah ya." she whispered back, grinning.  
  
Lily rolled her eyes. Throughout the rest of the song and the next, she managed, somehow to keep going. Step, step, kick. High kick. Shimmy. Arms up, arms down. All the while, she felt his eyes on her. Watching her every move, never leaving her. Burning into her skin. She was thrilled when the third number was finally over and she could just stand in once place, while the wild applause nearly shook the theatre around her. She, along with the rest of her ensemble, smile and waved, and blew kisses to a few of the audience members. Just before they were about to walk off stage, she let her eyes wander over to and meet the blue-gray ones in the balcony again. The smile faded from her lips as she let the gaze linger. While still continuing to wave enthusiastically, she cocked her head, bit her lip, and looked at him quizzically. She then let the smile that was tugging at the corner of her mouth play over her lips as she nodded toward him, and then looked away. A few seconds later, the girls all walked offstage together. Maggie came up behind Lily and nudge her with her elbow. "Hey," she said, "what'd I tell ya? I told ya, you'se the pick o'dah week!"  
  
Lily rolled her eyes and scoffed in distaste. "I'm not anybody's pick of the week, much less his. I am not going to be another notch in Spot Conlon's belt. He can just forget about it!"  
  
Maggie laughed. "Yeah Lil," she said, walking away, "shoah ya won't, whaddeva you say."  
  
Lily was in disbelief and stopped in her tracks. "Hey!" she called out to Maggie, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm serious! I am not falling into his little trap. I'm smarter than that!" She paused. "I mean it, Maggie! I won't!" Maggie just kept walking, waving goodbye over her head to Lily as she went towards the dressing rooms. Lily stood in place, her feet almost bolted to the ground as she milled over what Maggie's words could have mean. "Don't you do it, Josephine," she said to herself, under her breath, "do you go and let that atrocious boy have his way with you." As she stood there, she began to feel more and more like a fool for even letting him cross her mind again. She could feel her cheeks start to burn and redden with the embarrassment of it all. "Oh, bloody hell!" she said out loud, and balled her hands into fists and stamped her foot on the floor. A determined look came across her face as she spun around and instead of going into the dressing rooms with the other girls, marched angrily up the stairs to her room.  
  
~****~  
  
Hours passed. Day turned into evening, and evening turned into night. Lily sat on her bed, still fully dressed, with her arms crossed over her chest. Her feet tapped a nervous rhythm on the floor. Her eyes remained fixed on her open window. She was waiting for what she thought would be the inevitable. She was waiting for Spot Conlon to make his high and mighty appearance in her window.  
  
Anxious and impatient, she stood up and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, the laps undertaken at a quick speed. She suddenly stopped and faced the window, expectantly. No Spot. Angered and anguished she flopped back down on her bed with a frustrated "Aarrrgh." Her head in her hands, her feet began to resume their nervous tapping. "No!" she said out loud to no one, jumping up from the bed, "you can't do this! You've got to do something else! Anything!"  
  
Her eyes desperately searched the room for anything, anything that would keep her busy and take her mind off of the seemingly endless waiting. A book...no. She couldn't sit still for a single second, much less focus on words and storyline. Her eyes suddenly fell upon her desk and the drawer that held her journal. Yes. She would write.  
  
She quickly walked over to the desk that faced the wall, sat in the chair, and pulled out the drawer. Out came the journal, her pen, and a bottle of unopened ink. She opened her journal, flipping through it for a clean page. She then opened the jar, smelling the distinct smell of writing ink and dipped it in the ink. With the pen in left hand, and her head in her right, the pen began to fly across the page. Scratch, scratch, scratch - words were falling from it as they flowed from her mind into her fingers and onto the page. What she wrote was almost a manifesto: a redeclaration of her plans, her aspirations, a vow to not let herself get involved with this "kid," a list of reasons why she couldn't. She chastised herself for letting him into her life the previous night and reinforced determination and courage for resolving to be done with him. As she wrote on, she became complete oblivious to everything except her pen, her paper, and her words. She was so lost in her work that she almost did not hear the footsteps on the fire escape.  
  
As she heard the soft patting, it felt as though her ears were being pricked. She listened further. Footsteps. And then she felt him. She felt him come into the room and his presence overtook her. Without lifting her head, but putting her pen down carefully, she said, "Hello, Spot Conlon."  
  
"Hey, how'd ya know it was me? How'd ya know it ain't somebody else?" he asked.  
  
She turned around in her chair to face him. Instead of betraying herself by telling him that she felt his "presence" upon her as he entered the room, she instead used a more logical answer. "You came in through the window. You're the only one who does that. Anyone else would have used the door."  
  
Spot looked surprised for a moment and then recovered quickly by shrugging his shoulders. "Well, yeah," he said, "I'se gotta make me entrance." He walked over to her bed and flopped down on it, putting his hands behind his head and leaning against the headboard.  
  
"Sit down, why don't you," Lily muttered under her breath.  
  
"Well now," Spot said looking around, "dis is some nice place you'se got heah Lil- I mean-Jo. Real nice. How long ya had it?"  
  
"Um, well," said Lily, still marveling at the way he had just barged in and taken over the place like it was his own, "it hasn't always been this nice. I, mean, I used to share it with another girl. She was younger than me and a bit of a slob. A real flirt too. You had to walk into the room with your hand over your eyes cause she always had some man in here doing who know what at any given time."  
  
"So, where's dis goil now? Did ya get enuff o'her or somethun' and toss 'er and 'er stuff out da windah?" Spot asked.  
  
Lily laughed. "No, I didn't toss anyone out of the "windah." Mabel left about three months ago. She got married, if you can believe that. But I suppose if any man had enough money to trap Mabel, her new husband did. I don't know if she even liked the poor man nearly as much as she liked his pocketbook and his four hundred thousand a year."  
  
"So she married dis guy she didn't like? Crazy broad."  
  
"Excuse me, Conlon, but it's not like she had many other options. A girl has got to eat. And no matter how hard you try, you can't eat love. In my line of work, a girl's only got three choices: She can marry, marry rich, and get the hell out of here, or she can stay here, live in the theatre and dance her feet off for the rest of her life, or she can starve. When you think about it, there's really only one choice. You can't stay here because one day your good looks and hourglass figure will leave you. Everything will sag and your kicks won't match the height they had in your glory days. So, after a few years you're nothing. And you can't starve out on the street because you'll die. So, it's either marry a man with the right amount of 'pocket change' or get busy dying."  
  
"Hey, dat ain't true." Spot had risen from his reclining pose and was not sitting erect and on the defense. "You'se ain't nobody's slave. You'se can leave, can't ya? Get outta dis place, do somethun' else."  
  
"Like what?" Lily countered.  
  
"Well, like.." Spot searched his mind and the room, hoping the answer to her question would present itself, "like..like. well, I dunno, but der's shoah somethun out der."  
  
"Well, Spot Conlon," Lily said, rising from her chair and walking across the room to the window, "when you find something, be certain to tell me what it is. God knows I'd like to know." She looked out on the moonlit city again as she had time and time before. It hadn't changed. It was still the same dirty brown hustle-bustle place, trash lining the streets and a desolate soul on every corner. But somehow, the moonlight gave it a new charm, a new glow. It cast shadows so that one look beyond the eyesores and somehow made the city seem infinite. It was almost as if it really were place she had dreamed of, the place that made all your wildest dreams come true. Maybe it was like Spot said. Maybe there really was something else, maybe the city had more to offer her than she knew about.  
  
"No," she thought, "it's just the magic of the night. It casts its spell on the city and on me. Now I'm standing here dreaming of all that could be with this kid in my room behind me, and I've forgotten my vow to not get involved. Hell, when are you going to stop doing this, you silly girl. When are you going to start using your brain? You can't do things like this anymore."  
  
"No, I can't," she said softly to herself.  
  
"What's dat?" asked Spot over her shoulder, "What can't ya do?"  
  
Damn, she had been so lost in her thoughts that she'd nearly forgotten he was still there, sitting on her bed, infiltrating her world.  
  
"Oh, nothing," she said turning around. "So, what is it that you do anyway? I mean, besides becoming a regular in the balcony and climbing through my window every night?"  
  
"Me?" he said, "well, ya know in da mornin' I sell papes, da evenin' edition too. Sit around da docks, keep me boys in line. Take care o'any problems if I need tah. Eat. Sleep. Have a liddle fun every once in a while. Dah usual."  
  
"Ah, must be exciting," Lily mused.  
  
"Ah, it's ok. I mean, it ain't as great as ya gig, but I'se gots a little jingle in me pocket and a shirt on me back" he replied.  
  
"Oh, don't fool yourself. Aside from the room, the attention, and pleasant little gifts from admirers every once in a while, it's rather rotten. I mean, between the tiresome dance routines we've got to pull off three times a day and at rehearsals and fending off the entire male population of New York that wants to get under your skirt, it starts to take a toll."  
  
"Hey," Spot said, "anytime you'se got enuff, you can leave dis place an' I'll teach ya how tah be a helluva good newsie. I bet you'd be a natural."  
  
Lily laughed out of the silliness and impossibility of her becoming a newsie. "Oh come on Conlon, I'm not a kid anymore. Hell, I'm twenty years old, and you're what..well how old are you?"  
  
"Seventeen, but me birthday is in a month," he said.  
  
"Right, you're seventeen. You can still do anything you want. I'm twenty - that's marrying and settling down to raise a family age. And look at me, I'm not married and I have no family. All I've got is this. My only hope is to keep dancing and hope some nice, rich man notices me and decides I'd make a lovely wife before I get too old and too ugly to continue. So, I'm sorry, but the newsie thing is a trifle bit out of the question."  
  
"Hey, don't you'se be knockin bein a newsie till ya done tried it," Spot said, with an offended and hurt look on his face.  
  
Lily sighed. She was tired and frustrated with her life and the fact that there really was, for the moment, no way out for her. "Look, I'm sorry, but.."  
  
Spot interrupted her, "And ya ain't eva gonna get ugly. You'se too pretty for dat." Lily hadn't noticed before, but he was standing only inches from her face. He picked up a stray lock of her hair that had fallen and brushed it out of her eyes. "And ya know," he continued, "you'se even more pretty when ya's all agitated like dat."  
  
Lily looked up into those blue gray eyes. He was moving closer to her. She knew what he was going to do. Something within her stirred, and her heart pounded within her chest. She could feel her breaths quicken as the excitement mounted. Suddenly, a voice in her head screamed to her, "No! What the hell are you doing? Wait! Stop! Don't!"  
  
"Spot," Lily whispered to him, "I really don't want you to kiss me."  
  
Lily wasn't sure if he hadn't heard her or if it was just his a product of his arrogance and strong will (probably the latter, she thought), but either way, he did not take heed. Instead, he cupped her jaw in his left hand and tilted her face up to meet his as he leaned in and their lips met. It was soft at first, his let his mouth slightly graze hers before he paused and then kissed her full force, wantonly and deeply.  
  
When the kiss ended, Lily pulled back and gasped. Her mouth open in shock at what she had just allowed to happen, but she was even more surprised buy how much she had enjoyed it. Embarrassed, angered, and her pride injured, she raise her hand and slapped him across his left cheek.  
  
Spot recoiled from the sharp sound and the stinging pain he was now feeling. He raised his hand to his injured cheek. "How dare you," Lily spoke, words meant to convey the injustice he had just done to her, "how dare you do such a thing. Don't you know that-"  
  
But Spot did not let her finish. He abruptly pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, harder this time. Lily's first instinct was to fight - to push him off of her. But neither her heart, nor her body had any desire to do such, so she abandoned her resolve. breathed a deep sigh, and then melted into him. She threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with the same intensity and passion with which he was kissing her.  
  
~****~  
  
To be continued in Part III. 


	3. Part III

Part III  
  
After the kiss that seemed to last for an eternity and a half of a second at the same time finally ended and Lily pulled away, she could taste nicotine on her lips. The first thought to enter her mind was indescribable. In fact, had she tried to put it into words, it would have sprung from her mouth as a loud, high pitched, girlish squeal, composed of only vowels. Her next thought came just ask quickly as the first, riding on the curtails of the jubilation as she licked her lips and tasted the distinctive taste of cigar. However, this thought she could put into words.  
  
"Great Josephine," she thought, "Just spectacular. A chain smoking, alcoholic newsboy with an anger management problem that has seduced more than half the females in New York City. Wonderful. Splendid showing."  
  
"So, uh.."Spot began to speak.  
  
"No, Spot Conlon, no," she was screaming to herself in her mind, "I know what you are about to ask, and your answer is no. You are not going to bed with me. Did you hear that? You are not bedding this girl! I am not going to be another one of your conquests. Not this girl! Never!"  
  
Spot finished his sentence, but Lily did not hear it. Instead, she looked at him alarmingly, fire in her eyes, ready to give him a piece of her strong resistance.  
  
"God, Jo, you ain't gotta gimme a crazy look like dat," he said, "it's jist a stinkin pahty. You ain't gotta go if ya don't wanna."  
  
The angry look disappeared from Lily's face and was quickly replaced by a confused one. Party? Had he said anything about a party? She must have been to busy giving herself a mental lecture that she drowned out what he had said. "Party?" she questioned, "What party?"  
  
"Ahhhh...so ya do wanna go. Come on," Spot's confident, smug look had returned to his face. After all, he was Spot Conlon. What girl could resist him? He grabbed Lily's arm and began to lead her in the direct of the window, his exit of choice.  
  
"Wait, wait, wait Conlon!" Lily resisted, reclaiming her arm. "I never said I'd go with you to this party. Or anywhere else for that matter. It's late, and I've got rehearsals in the morning. And on top of that, I've got no idea where the hell you plan on taking me, or what you think you're going to do with me when you get me there."  
  
"Hey it's jist a party. It ain't like I'se gonna take ya tah dah Bridge and trow ya off it or somethun.' And like I said, ya ain't gotta go if ya don't wanna." Spot shrugged and turned in the direction of the window to leave. He was pretending not to care if she decided to grace him with her presence or not, but he was secretly fuming. Apparently, he had been right in the first place. Who did this broad think she was refusing a night out on the town with Spot Conlon? Didn't she know that he was the most feared and respected newsie in New York and that she was violating an unwritten law by not accepting his offer? Hell, who needed her anyway? He could find someone who was a little less stuck up and a little bit more "willing" at the party.  
  
Lily was mulling over the advantages and disadvantages of going somewhere alone with this kid, this urchin she had just met. It shouldn't matter how attractive his confidence was or how she felt when his steel blue eyes looked through her, or even how his kiss had made her melt. He was a stranger, and from the assessment of his visible weapons that she had made, and from the knowledge she had gained from his spurts of temper and Maggie's words of warning, she knew she should just shoo him out of the window and lock it behind him. But could she convince herself that this is what she wanted to do?  
  
No, most likely not. Her heart had already said yes and was presently following Spot Conlon out of the window. And besides, the longest relationship he had ever had was a week. The affair they were obviously carrying on would only last a week. And here it was Tuesday already. By Friday or Saturday he'd be bored with her, and she'd be rid of him, free to carry out her life as planned.  
  
She looked at her clock. It was only nine thirty two. Still early by New York standards. And she could just stay out for a little while. There was no need to be gone all night.  
  
Spot was one foot out of the window and ready to throw his other leg over the ledge when he heard her call out behind him, "Alright, I'll go." He smiled and turned around to face her. "Now, dat's more like it," he said.  
  
"Just let me get my shoes, and I'm only going on my conditions. One, I am only staying out as long as I want to. When I am ready to go, you will escort me back her, no questions asked. Two, you are not getting any favours of any kind out of me. So, if you were considering that sort of thing, kindly erase it from your mind this minute. And three, the knife is coming with us." As she said the last sentence, she pulled up her skirt and tucked the knife into a sheath that was strapped around her thigh. She fastened the buckles on her shoes, and headed in the direction of the window.  
  
As she reached their egress, Spot offered her his hand to help her climb out, but she refused it with a shake of her head and a, "No thank you. I won't be needing it." With that statement, she swiftly and deftly climbed out of the window and began making her way down the fire escape ladders.  
  
Spot smirked. This girl was something. He didn't know what kind of something she was yet. But she was definitely something he had never experienced before. His initial reaction had been one of delight. She aroused something within him with her fiery attitude and determination that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and unmentionable thoughts come to mind. However, his instinct told him that this girl could be trouble. She was independent, and maybe too much so. He didn't want her questioning who was in charge. He was the boss, and if she was going to be his girl, she's better recognize that. His girl. To Spot Conlon, it was an interesting, almost tasty thought.  
  
As Spot stood there, thinking, Lily had nearly reached the ground. He had to run to catch up with her. "Where are you taking me anyway?" she inquired of him.  
  
"'S boithday party for one a me boys. Big tah do and everything. Dah woiks, ya know?" he responded.  
  
~***~  
  
They walked in silence, Lily following Spot's lead until he finally stopped. Lily looked up to see the building at which they had stopped.  
  
"Whitewall Pub," Lily said, reading the sign, "It's a pub?"  
  
"Yeah," Spot said nodding, "dah good ol'Whitewalla."  
  
"So I read," she answered, almost in disbelief that 'dah woiks' would take place in a pub he called the "whitewalla." "Let me guess, does it have white walls?"  
  
"Nah," said Spot, shaking his head. "Dey's brown. Now, you'se comin' in or ya gonna stay out heah talkin' all night?" He walked in the direction of the pub with the intention of heading in.  
  
Lily stood there, staring at the building. She sighed. "It's only for one week. Only one week," she told herself. She shrugged her shoulders then ran off to catch Spot.  
  
She was behind Spot when he opened the door to the pub, revealing an entire world almost unbeknownst to the outside. Lily's eyes opened wide to take in all that she saw around her. The walls, as Spot had said, were certainly brown, but the gaslight made them emit a glow that was near otherworldly. And everywhere, in every corner, lining every wall, everywhere her eyes could see were newsboys, easily over a hundred of them in the room. Dirty newsboys in clothes too big or small for them and holes in their pockets. They were talking and smoking, laughing and carousing. Some were dancing and even more were drinking. They carried on without stopping, but as Lily walked through the door, she could feel their eyes on her.  
  
She followed Spot through the room as he parted a path through the see of boys. She heard some of them whistle. "Hey Conlon, whatcha got there?" she heard one of them yell, followed by another shout of "Looky, looky at Brooky dere!" Lily couldn't see Spot's face, but she knew, she just knew he was smiling that smug, satisfied grin of his. Suddenly, a boy jumped down from a table and landed in front of her. He was tall and blonde, from what she could tell through the smoky air, and he was wearing an eye patch. "Hey," he said, "you wanna dance?"  
  
Lily wasn't sure how to answer this ragamuffin kid. She stuttered for a moment. "Uh, uh," looking around the room, before she smiled a confused sort of smile, and said, "Alright." Right then, the kid took her hand and whisked her onto the dance floor where the band was playing a lively jig.  
  
While Lily was being swung around the floor, Spot made his way over to the bar where several boys were standing. "Heya Spot," said one who was sitting on a barstool, leaning back against the bar, an unhappy looking girl standing beside him. "Heya Jacky," Spot answered, pulling up a stool. "Hey Sarah," he addressed the girl. She forced a smile and nodded at him. Jack passed Spot a bottle, and Spot took a swig.  
  
"I would uh, ax ya how it's rollin, but from dah looks o'dat dere, I t'ink I already know," Jack said, raising his eyebrows at Spot. Another boy with black hair, outfitted in a vest and a cigar, came up to them. "Heya Race," said Jack. "Dat dere's Lily Fox, ain't it?" Race asked. Spot smiled smugly again and answered with an equally smug, "Yup, it shoah is."  
  
Race looked impressed. "Tell me somethun' Conlon," he said, "how did you get Lily Fox tah come heah?"  
  
"I know how he got 'er heah," Jack said and both boys turned to face him as he went on, "he t'reatened 'er wid his stick." Jack and Race laughed.  
  
"Hey, watch yer mout dere Kelly,"Spot threatened.  
  
"Wha?" said Jack innocently, "Ya knows as well as I knows that dere ain't too many people you don't t'reaten wit dat stick."  
  
"And if ya don't shut yer face," Spot retorted, "I'm gonna take dis stick and shove it up yer ass."  
  
"Nah," said Jack to Race, "maybe he didn't need tah use dah stick dis time. Jis' look at 'is face." Jack grabbed Spot's face, turned it toward Race, and squeezed it to illustrate his point while he said, "Wit a puss like dis, ya don't need no stick."  
  
"Get yer hands off me face Kelly," Spot angrily spat, pushing Jack's hand off of his face as Jack and Race erupted into laughter.  
  
Out on the floor, Lily was still being whirled around to the lively beat of the jig. Her partner, she had found out in between desperate attempts to catch her breath, was named Blink. When the song finally stopped, Lily breathed a sigh of relief, thinking she was now free to rest. However, she found she was mistaken when another newsie immediately came up to take Blink's place. "Dance?" he asked.  
  
Lily looked at him incredulously, but shrugged and said, "Why not?" The band struck up another fast paced tune, and Lily once again found herself being led all over the floor at rapid pace. "Name's Specs," he said. "I'm Li-" Lily started to say, but was interrupted. "I knows who ya are," Specs said. Lily started to question his statement, but decided not to. Better to save her breath for dancing instead of talking because, from the looks of it, she wouldn't be resting anytime soon.  
  
Lily tramped all over the floor in the arms of one newsie after another. Blink, Specs, Skittery, Rock, Bumlets, Johnny, TJ, Stinga, Scrapper, Red, Big Moe, Ralphie..so many names, she was beginning to lose track. She was out of breath and her feet were aching from the steps and the occasional accidental stomp of a newsie's foot. As a slower song started to be played, she finally thought the break she'd been waiting for had come. She was ready to march over to the bar to get something to quench her dancing- induced thirst when she was approached by yet another boy.  
  
He had black hair and was decked out in a cap and a vest. He threw the cigar he was smoking on the ground and snuffed it out with his foot before approaching her. When he reached her, he bowed. Lily, playing along, executed a deep curtsy. "Pahdon me," he said, "but would you do me dah honah of grantin me dis dance?" Lily laughed and held out her hand, "Now how could a girl refuse such an honor?"  
  
Race took her hand and began to slowly lead her in sweeping circles. "Racetrack Higgins, pleased tah make ya acquaintance," he said.  
  
"Well, Racetrack Higgins," Lily answered, "the pleasure is mine." The song suddenly began to speed up, causing Race to speed up. He led her from one side of the floor to the other, occasionally twirling her, with ease. Not one time did one of his deft feet come close to trampling one of Lily's. And for that she was grateful.  
  
Spot looked out at Lily and Race's dance from his post at the bar. The girl hadn't gotten a chance to stop moving since she walked in. She was popular because all the newsies had heard of her, many of them patrons at her theatre. Spot knew the kind of reaction he'd stimulate by bringing her here. He felt empowered at knowing that Lily's popularity would raise his status and impress many of the boys. But watching her out there, seeing all of the boys' eyes on her, how they got to hold her when they danced, and the way she sparkled, he couldn't help but feel the jealousy rising up, as its heat traveled up the back of his neck.  
  
Lily was glad when the song finally ended. She curtsied as Race bowed to her again, but she was determined to hold to her earlier decision. She was certainly stopping this time. If anyone asked for another dance, she'd tell them most sternly that they'd have to wait a few minutes.  
  
She exited the floor and pushed her way toward where she'd seen Spot sitting from a blurred glimpse she caught of him while dancing. He as at the bar with another boy and a very cross looking girl. When she finally reached him, she noticed the smug look hadn't left his face.  
  
"Had enuff?" he said to her, more of a statement than a question. She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. "Ya want somet'ing tah drink?" he asked her.  
  
"Scotch," she said, and was almost immediately handed a glass. She drank it down immediately.  
  
"Dis here is Jack Kelly," said Spot, motioning to the boy standing beside them with the red bandana around his neck, "and dat dere is Sarah. His goil."  
  
Jack nodded and smiled, but Sarah's only reaction was a look of disdain. "Jack," she said in a quiet, almost pleading voice, "I'd like something to drink."  
  
"Alright," he answered, "I'll get ya some water or somethun'." He began to motion for the bartender to come over.  
  
"No," said Sarah, "I think I'll have what she's having."  
  
Lily noticed her voice change to almost a hiss when she said the word "she." What was this girl trying to do? Match wits with her by out- drinking her? Was she jealous or something? Did she think that Lily was out to steal her little boyfriend and that she was going to show her who's boss by matching ever drink Lily took.  
  
Jack looked surprised at Sarah's demand, but got when the bartender reached him, he simply said, "Scotch for dah lady."  
  
When Sarah received her drink, she was shocked by it's taste. She wrinkled her nose at the first sip and started to put it down. But, she looked at Lily and remembered how she'd finished the entire drink without flinching and quickly gulped down the rest.  
  
Lily was watching her the entire time. When she saw the look of satisfaction in Sarah's eyes after she'd finished the entire glass, she said, "I think I'll have another one." She watched Sarah's face to see what would happened.  
  
Just as she had thought she would, "Yes, me too," said Sarah. Both girls were passed another glass. They drank them down, never taking their eyes off of each other. The other boys in the room had begun to notice what was happening and started to form a crowd around them.  
  
"You wan' anudder one, Sarah," Jack asked. Sarah looked at Jack, then she looked at Lily, not sure how she should answer. No, she didn't really want another one, and she was hoping that she wouldn't have to choke one more down.  
  
"Sure she does," Lily spoke up, now fully aware of what was taking place and wanting to see how far she could push Sarah. She wanted to see what would happen when the prissy little thing had her fill. She wanted to see how amusing it would be.  
  
Again, both girls were passed another drink. Sarah took a sip of hers slowly, cringing in distaste yet again. But when she saw that Lily was steadily drinking her, she began to force it down. Though she had made it to the bottom of the glass, she was beginning to feel a little woosy.  
  
Lily smiled at Sarah as the barkeep passed them another round. Lily took a sip of hers and watched Sarah shakily lift the glass to her mouth and drink some of the potent liquid. Sarah then put the glass down. "Jack, I don't- " she begun to say but didn't finish before she closed her eyes and started sliding off of her stool.  
  
"Whoa!" Jack said catching her as the pub went up with newsboys' cheers. "I t'ink you'se had enuff dere Sarah."  
  
Lily herself was beginning to feel a little sick, but her triumph had distracted her. She received even more of a distraction when she felt a hot and familiar voice in her ear say, "Dat dere is da greatest t'ing I'se seen in a long time."  
  
She turned around, coming face to face with Spot. "I didn't know ya had it in ya,"Spot said. Lily smiled a sly smile. "Come off it, Conlon," she said, "you certainly didn't think I was that much of a sissy, did you?"  
  
Lily jumped down from her stool, but as her feet hit the ground, she began to feel a little woozy. The room spun a little, but she was able to steady herself and regain her composure before anyone noticed. She was lightheaded and giddy from her four glasses of Scotch, so she set out the rejoin the newsies on the dance floor before her happy tipsiness left her for the nausea that was sure to follow.  
  
She had not gotten far when she heard Spot's voice call out to her, "Excuse me, Miss Fox." She turned around to face him, awaiting the continuation of his sentence. "I, uh, was jis' wonderin' just when ya planned on dancin' wit dah fella dat brought ya."  
  
"Why?" Lily questioned, trying to get a rise out of him, "Does the fellow who brought me want to dance."  
  
Spot stood up and walked over to her, "Yeah, ya might say dat."  
  
"Well, then," Lily replied, "the fellow should ask, now shouldn't he?"  
  
"Lily Jo Fox," Spot grandly said, deliberately trying to act overly sophisticated, "Would ya do me dah honah of havin' dis dance."  
  
Lily smiled. "Maybe," she said. Spot's answer to her "maybe" was a narrowing of his blue gray eyes and a scowl. Lily laughed, then took his hand to lead him out onto the floor.  
  
From that point on, the two shared dances with no one else. The night was growing later, and the floor was emptying. There were just a handful of couples left on the floor when the band began to play a slow song. It had a ¾ signature, a rhythm Lily knew well: a waltz. The beat was so familiar, one two three, one, two, three..she hadn't heard one in years and as it played, she felt a pang of nostalgia. "Spot," she asked as she swayed in his arms to the music, "do you know how to waltz?"  
  
"Waltz?" he questioned, "No. What's a waltz."  
  
"Well, it's this really," Lily said. "It's got three beats. One, two, three, one, two, three. Hear them? The way that you waltz is - well, here let me show you. But you'll have to let me lead."  
  
Lily took the lead and Spot tried to follow. He stumbled a few times, but after he caught on, they were swiftly moving in an elegant circular pattern.  
  
"Alright, alright," he said, "I'se got it. Lemme lead now. A goil ain't no good at leadin."  
  
Lily let him take the lead. She closed her eyes as their feet slid over the floor. The song even sounded familiar. The tune was very close to a song she had heard many times in her childhood. She knew the words by heart. She began to hum the tune as she danced, her eyes still closed. Then, the humming turned into words as Lily sang in French the song she had learned as a child.  
  
Spot noticed her humming and then her French singing. He was surprised that she spoke French, but did not interrupt her to question how she did. She looked as if she were in a trance, as if she were somewhere else and not in the room at all. She looked happy. Spot smiled, and decided not to interrupt her.  
  
~***~  
  
On the walk home, the Scotch had taken its full effect. Lily wasn't walking back to the theatre, she was floating. Floating and chattering without ceasing.  
  
She hummed and danced while she walked down the street. "I'm gonna take it dat you had yaself a good time," Spot said, smiling at her giddiness.  
  
"Oh, yes," said Lily, "it was perfectly lovely. And that song at the end, that was a beautiful song, didn't you think?" She began to hum more of the song.  
  
"Yeah, beauty-ful," Spot said, "and hey, I didn't know ya spoke French."  
  
"Yes," answered Lily, "I learned when I was very young."  
  
"So, ya speak French, ya waltz, ya drink Scotch. Is dere anyt'ing ya can't do?" he asked.  
  
Lily thought for a moment. She spread her arms, "Hmmmm, I can't fly. Although I tried once when I was about seven, and it didn't end well. I can't..I can't knit. And I was never very good at archery. I can't - "  
  
Spot interrupted, "Alright, I get it. What are ya? Are ya a richie or somethun?"  
  
Lily stopped in her tracks and was silent. The smile disappeared from her face. After a second or two, she slowly began walking behind Spot. Spot noticed the tension that the last subject had seemed to caused and quickly searched his mind for something with which to break the silence.  
  
"So, uh," he stared, "ya shoah showed dat Sarah back dere. Drinkin her undah dah table like dat. She had it comin to 'er. She's a whiny, little priss of a bitch and she don't like me for some reason."  
  
Lily laughed. "I might have 'shown her' back there, but I am going to be such a mess in the morning. Four glasses of scotch." She sighed.  
  
They came up on the theatre and walked to the side where Lily's window was. They climbed up the fire escape to her room.  
  
"So, this is my stop," said Lily giving Spot a slight smile. "I had a lovely time. I didn't think I would, but I had a lovely time. So, uh, thank you and goodnight."  
  
She turned to climb back through her window, but Spot stopped her. "Wait," he said in a low voice, "ain't you forgettin' somethun?"  
  
Lily looked somewhat embarrassed, but she smile again, cleared her throat, walked over to Spot, and gave him a shy kiss on the cheek. She turned to leave once more, but Spot stopped her again - this time by grabbing her wrist. He pulled her too him and kissed her passionately on the lips. A long, slow, wanting kiss.  
  
When their lips finally parted. Lily climbed into her window. Spot started to follow her, hoping for more, but she stopped him, gently placing her hand on his chest. She smiled sweetly, and softly said, "Goodnight Conlon."  
  
With that remark, she closed the window and the curtains and walked away. Spot lingered on the platform for a few seconds, smiling widely, before taking a deep breath and sighing. He shook his head, still smiling, and began to walk down the stairs.  
  
~***~  
  
To be continued... 


	4. Part IV

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Let me just say for the record that this chapter is simply serving as a transition to later chapters. There were some things I needed to cover now in order to develop the plot later. I've read this over several times, and come up with the same result: blah. It isn't interesting. Well, at least not to me. But don't let me influence the thoughts of my audience. Read it and decide for yourself, but just remember that it's transitional.  
  
Part IV  
  
The clicking of the girl's heeled shoes on the wooden stage as they went through the numbers to be performed that night sounded like claps of thunder inside of Lily's aching head. She was sitting on a movable platform toward the back of the stage, nursing her throbbing headache and wincing at ever click and clatter as she watched her fellow dancers rehearse. She should have known better. She was well aware of what large amounts of alcohol and four hours of sleep could do to a person.  
  
She sighed and massaged her temples, but was suddenly and painfully startled as the band decided to join in the rehearsal with their drums and cymbals. "It's only for a week," she told herself, "you've just to go survive a few more days and then it will all be over."  
  
"Miss Fox?" She looked up to see Junior Mantovanni, son of the dearly departed founder of the theatre, demanding her attention. He oversaw all rehearsals to insure that everything was up to snuff and that everyone did exactly as they were supposed to in the exact fashion that he desired. "Miss Fox, if you would kindly join us, we are ready for you now."  
  
She detested the snobbish, little, control-freak of a weasel that Junior was, but she smiled graciously, trying to forget the throbbing, and stood up slowly to join them. She walked over to the front of the stage, waited for the cue from the band, and then began singing. She forced a huge smile, stifling the grimaces that tried to emerge. She stumbled through the first song, off-key at one point, missing a few words in the next line. Finally, in the middle of the last chorus, she stopped, her smile fading and the grimace appearing as she muttered an, "Oh, bloody hell," under her breath.  
  
"Stop, stop, stop!" shouted Junior, silencing the band and everyone in the room.  
  
"Oh, bloody, bloody hell," Lily continued muttering.  
  
"Miss Fox?" he said accusingly.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Mantovanni?" she forced a half smile.  
  
"Forgive me for asking, but just what in God's name is wrong with you?" he spoke sharply, his eyes narrowing with disapproval.  
  
"I, uh," she fumbled for words, no logical cover-up lie coming to mind. "I, uh, I just-"  
  
"She's sick!" came a voice from the back. A girl near the back of the stage stood up, coming to Lily's rescue.  
  
"What was that Miss Monroe?" Mantovanni inquired.  
  
Faye Monroe, Lily's best friend and current saviour came up to her and took her arm. "She terribly sick," Faye lied, "but she was afraid to tell you. She didn't want to have to let the company down by not being here. Instead, she thought she'd be noble and self-sacrificing by attending rehearsals no matter how badly she was feeling. I'm no doctor sir, but I do believe that she has that Spanish Influenza. You do know how it's been going around. And, though I know it's not what she wants to do, I think it best for her to rest for a little while. Maybe if she recuperates somewhat, she can be well enough to make this evening's performance."  
  
"Well, fine. If she's that ill, let her rest for a while. We wouldn't want her missing out on any more. Miss Monroe, you are excused also to see that she is on the road to recovery." Mantovanni looked none too pleased about having to excuse his money-maker from rehearsal or the two following shows, but he released her so that she wouldn't be forced to miss a greater number if her condition got worse.  
  
"Thank you, sir," said Faye, "Come on, Lily." "Thank you," repeated Lily as Faye helped her off stage.  
  
Faye waited until they were in Lily's room and well out of earshot before she said, "What the hell is the matter with you? What's going on that you aren't telling me about?"  
  
Lily slowly sat down on her bed, once again cradling her head in her hands. "God, Faye," she moaned, "is it absolutely necessary for you to shout? I can hear you. There's nothing wrong with my ears. And there's nothing going on, either."  
  
"That is a big, fat lie, Lily Fox, and you know it," threatened Faye, "hey - it isn't that newsboy, that Spot what's-his-name kid, is it?"  
  
Lily wrinkled her brow. "How the hell do you know about that?"  
  
"Maggie told me. She told me you asked about him, and plus he sent some of his 'ambassadors' around here the other day, remember? And besides, I knew something was going on. You've been missing steps, tripping over you're feet, and today, you've obviously not normal. So are you going to tell me, or do I have to threaten your life?"  
  
"Go to hell," Lily retorted, angered that she was being questioned and still reeling from the pain in her head.  
  
"If I do, I'm taking you with me," Faye countered, giving Lily a harsh stare as she stood her ground, refusing to leave until the secret was revealed.  
  
"Alright, alright," Lily finally said sighing, resigned and giving in, "yes, it is none other than Spot Conlon, newsie and dirty street urchin who chain smokes, has an alcohol and an anger management problem and has slept with half of the women in New York. The fearless leader of the Brooklyn newsies frequents our performances, sneaks into my window at night, and last night, he took me out to a party at a pub where I danced with boys I didn't know, drank too much, and stayed out far too late, which brings us up to my current predicament of feeling as though I am going to die. There, are you satisfied?"  
  
Lily closed her eyes so as to shield herself from whatever menacing look or stern words she expected Faye to fling at her. The certain reprimand and scolding she was going to receive for her childish and silly behaviour. However, she found herself much surprised when the only thing to come from her friend's mouth was a burst of laughter. "I knew it!" Faye shrieked between giggles, "I just knew it! Lily Fox, have you gone mad!"  
  
"Quite possibly," Lily answered.  
  
In return, Faye said nothing. And how could she? She was laughing so hard that she couldn't speak.  
  
"Faye, wait, hold on a moment. Two things: first, could you please stop the shrieking before my head explodes? And secondly, why the hell do you find this so humorous?"  
  
"Oh, Lil, calm down," Faye answered, "It's not like it's a deathly serious matter. It's just a little funny that you, my dear, are keeping company with a newsie, and the most egotistical, pig-headed, cocky newsie in the city, maybe even the world, at that."  
  
"Yes, well, it's not for long. A week, right? I've got a week before he loses interest in me and I'm rid of him. So, today being Wednesday, I figure that I've only got two, three days at most left of this foolishness. And then things can return to their happy state of normalcy, and I can continue living my life as planned," Lily explained.  
  
Faye smiled as she headed for the door. "Sure Lily," she said, "a week. And what's a week in the course of a lifetime? Almost nothing. Now, I've got to go back down there because I'm not fortunate enough to have the Spanish Influenza like you do. And speaking of your deathly illness, you better continue to behave as if you are deathly ill after I risked my hide for you down there."  
  
Lily massaged her forehead, over her eyebrows, as she said, "I'm sure that won't be a problem, Faye."  
  
"Alright, feel better Sickling," Faye said smiling and closing the door behind her.  
  
"She thinks I'm crazy," Lily said out loud to herself after Faye had left her. "She pretends that she doesn't, but she does. I'm sure Maggie does too, and so will everyone else in the building after they get wind of my little nighttime adventures with the now infamous Mr. Spot Conlon. And why shouldn't they? I are crazy. I am absolutely out of my mind!"  
  
She let herself fall backwards from her sitting position until she was lying on her bed. She cringed as her head hit the pillow. "Aargh. But what does it matter how sane or insane you are if you are dying?" She kicked her shoes off and crawled under the covers of her bed. Hugging her pillow to her, she said, "It's only a few more days. Just a few more days."  
  
~***~  
  
Wednesday passed without the death that Lily felt coming on and expected. Much to her surprise, she had managed to feel a great deal better later that day, and true to Faye's word, she did make the evening performance. Wednesday night arrived, and Thursday and Friday soon came and went. Each night Lily found herself awaiting Spot's entrance through her window, and each night she was not disappointed.  
  
The times of his arrivals varied, but each night he showed up without fail. They passed the late hours talking of the day's happenings, retelling humorous stories, sharing their wants, hopes, and dreams, though each took caution never to reveal too much about their past. On Thursday, they went on a moonlit walk, and Spot took Lily on a 'tour de Brooklyn a la Spot," showing her his favourite places, his haunts, and even the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House.  
  
The time not spent talking, laughing, or walking was passed in each others' arms, exchanging embraces, touches, and kisses, the night falling down around them. Lily found herself becoming even more attracted, to Spot, to this kid who could be telling her to shut the hell up one moment, and softly stroking her face and calling her beautiful the next. She never knew what to expect from him, and she liked the unpredictability ever so much, far more than she knew she should. She loved to challenge him, match wits with him, to see if she could get a rise out of him. She lived to see his blue eyes flash with anger. And she especially loved how he would lose his temper, say something horribly mean, and then, within a few moments, tell her, "hey, ya know I didn't mean dat," and be kissing her again. And then time would stand still, and all would be silent, and could cease to exist if they wished it to.  
  
It had all been like a dream, as though she had walked around outside of her body for a week. Everything with Spot was so exciting, so different, and surprisingly so sweet. She would wait in eager anticipation for the day to fly by, for the sun to set and surrender to her precious night. For the few nights they had spent together had held such magic, the both of them entranced in a spell, lost inside their own world that they had created. And how Lily wished these nights could go on forever.  
  
She had, in fact, become so wrapped up in her time of magic and mysticism that she had almost forgotten about their deadline. Their week was coming to an end, and before she knew it, Saturday had passed and Sunday was upon her. When she realized what day it was, she felt a pang of sadness and nostalgia in her stomach. Their time together had not yet fully drawn to a close, but she missed it already. She almost didn't want it to end, no matter how foolish and physically tolling it must have been. However, after much thought, she was sure Spot wouldn't feel an inch of remorse when he would come that night to tell her they were through. So, she gathered up her resolve and determined to let him go and have him forgotten by the end of the next week.  
  
~***~  
  
That night, she waited for him, just as she had waited for him every other night. However, this night, instead of the usual excitement she felt, there was only the dull pang of dread and sorrow. She sat still on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped in her lap. She rubbed one thumb over the other, the skin around the nail of each rough and peeling: the handiwork of her bad habit of biting her cuticles when she was nervous or anxious.  
  
She heard the patter of footsteps on the fire escape, and looked up to see Spot climbing through her window. He smiled after he'd made it through, and Lily tried her best to smile back at him, though it was weak and not very convincing. Her face had betrayed her by not allowing a bit of the false bravery to grace her expression. Spot leaned over to kiss her forehead before sitting down beside her on the bed. A kiss on the forehead, not on the cheek or on the lips. Lily could feel that it was coming.  
  
"Hey, I'se got somethun for ya," Spot said, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket in which some thing was wrapped.  
  
Lily worked up all of her nerve to ask, "Is it a farewell gift?"  
  
"A farewell gift? What dah hell are ya talkin' about?" Spot questioned with a confused tone in his voice.  
  
"Well, it's been a week..." Lily started.  
  
"Has it?" Spot asked, thinking, "Ah, well I guess it 'as. I hadn't noticed. Now are you'se gonna open dis or not?'  
  
Lily was puzzled. Had Spot come there to end things between them or not? And if yes, why did he come bearing gifts. She gently opened the folds of his handkerchief to reveal two glittering gold wrapped bars. "Spot!" she said smiling, "this is chocolate! Where did you get this?"  
  
"Uh-uh, I ain't gonna tell," he paused to think for a moment, "but on second thought, jis so ya won't accuse me o'swipin it, I guess I haf tah tell ya dat I won it in a pokah game last night. An' since I ain't too sweet on dah stuff, I figgared I'd bring it tah you."  
  
"Well, you figured right," Lily said, happily tearing into a gold foil wrapper and forgetting about her apprehension and dread. She broke off a piece and put it into her mouth. She sighed in elation as she chewed it.  
  
"So I take it dat ya like it?" Spot asked.  
  
"Like it?" Lily said, still chewing, "It's divine. Here, you've got to have some." She broke off a piece and offered it to him. He shook his head. "Oh, come on, Conlon," she said, bringing the candy closer to his face. He turned his head around, and pushed her hand away. "Please," Lily pushed further, "just a little piece, please?"  
  
Spot frowned, wrinkling his nose. Lily then grabbed his head, and force fed him the chocolate. She laughed as he chewed unhappily. When he finished, he said, "You'se gonna pay for that."  
  
"Oh yeah," Lily retorted, "just what are you going to do to me, Mr. big, bad, I'se Spot Conlon, I'se dah leadah o' dah Brooklyn Newsies, huh? Huh?"  
  
"Yeah, you'se gonna pay!" And with that, Spot pounced on Lily, knocking her backwards on the bed, causing her laughter to increase in intensity. He crawled directly on top of her, tickling her.  
  
"Spot!" Lily said breathless, gasping for air in between laughs, "Spot! Stop it! Stop it right now!" She writhed and kicked, trying desperately to do anything to cease the torturous tickling. Her sides ached from his fingers and nonstop laughter, but Spot was merciless, and ignored her pleas for relief.  
  
He finally stopped, much to her relief, and leaned over to kiss her. Sweet kisses that tasted of chocolate as their mouths mingled. Lily sighed a deep sigh, despite her aching torso, and once again, felt herself melting into him, melting into his soft lips, and strong hands, his warm chest and steady breaths - now chocolate perfumed. Oh, what was it about this boy? At that moment, she didn't know, and she didn't care to find out. She cared about nothing. The only things that mattered were she and Spot, and that he would stay with her and continue kissing her.  
  
Spot broke their kiss, sat up, unlaced his shoes, and took them off. When he returned to Lily, he let his lips touch hers for a few seconds, and then allowed them to wander down her face to her neck. He kissed down her neck and then lingered at the notch below her throat. "Spot, what are you-" Lily asked laughing, but soon realized where he was headed when he began to unbutton the buttons on her blouse. Her mood altered, and her expression changed to one of fear as she silently mouthed, "no."  
  
It wasn't because of her effort to not be another notch in Spot's belt that her body revolted. They had passed the week deadline without falter, which had almost fully convinced Lily that she was not just another of Spot's flings. No, it wasn't because of her former self-promise, nor was it because of any sudden attack of moral consciousness that her body grew tense and afraid. It was a familiar feeling of fear and dread that locked her in its clutches. Her muscles grew tense and her breathing began to speed up. Spot's once warm and welcome touches became like icy violation, cold fingers dragging across an unwilling skin. Terror seized her, making her its prisoner, binding her to the bed with invisible shackles. "No!" her insides screamed, "No, no, no, no!" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she let one fall.  
  
She sat up suddenly, pushing him off of her. "Spot, no," she said, "I can't.." The look that he gave her was unreadable. It was confusion, hurt, maybe, but his eyes also flashed that distinct shade of possible anger.  
  
Lily looked away from him as she sat on the other side of the bed in silence, holding herself to make the shivering chill go away. She expected him to lash out at her or to leave, to find himself someone more willing now that she hadn't given him what he wanted. But Spot remained as silent as she. Lily could not imagine what he must be thinking, what he must be preparing to say, but she knew that she didn't dare break the silence.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Spot finally spoke. "Is it me, Jo?" he said.  
  
Lily looked at him, and then looked away before she said reassuringly, "No, Spot, of course not."  
  
Spot was silent again. "Ya ain't gonna tell me, are ya?" he finally said.  
  
Lily didn't look at him this time before she said, "No."  
  
Silence. She didn't see his face, but she could feel his sad expression. She could feel his confusion and his hurt, and she suddenly felt as though she had done him a great injustice. He had done nothing wrong to her. How was he to know that she'd react the way she did? Now she'd made him uncomfortable, made him feel like he'd done something horrible, certainly hurt his pride, and maybe even offended him. Suddenly she couldn't stand the waiting in silence anymore as the tenderness she felt toward him welling up inside of her. She drew in a ragged breath. "Spot, I'm sorry..." she said softly.  
  
"Nah," he said, "What do ya got to be sorry for? You ain't done nothin'."  
  
She looked at him, her eyes wide and hopeful, and weakly smiled. "Spot, can we..."she started to say, "Can you..can you just stay here tonight?"  
  
"Do ya, I mean, after dat little.., ya still want me to stay here wit you? You shoah dat's alright?" Spot asked.  
  
Lily closed her eyes, and softly laughed. She could feel her cheeks start to become red. The terror of earlier had been replaced with embarrassment as she considered how rash and foolishly she had acted.  
  
"Oh, sorry," Spot murmured, noticing her discomfort. "Of coise, I'll stay," he whispered."  
  
Lily crawled over to his side and let herself become enveloped in his arms again. "Jis one t'ing, though," he interjected, "I'se got tah get up early tomorrah mornin', so don't ya be snorin' and intahruptin' me sleep."  
  
Lily laughed and rolled her eyes. "Spot?" she said,  
  
"Yeah?" he answered.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
~***~  
  
To be continued... 


	5. Part V

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Remember that this takes place a year later, in 1900. Spot's a year and a half older, he's taller, and he's bigger and stronger, not so skinny, flimsy, and flighty anymore. This is important to be aware of, because if you are picturing Spot as he was in the movie, there's no way the last scene could work.  
  
So, with out any further ado,  
  
Part V  
  
The days began to fly. Seven days passed to become a week. One week became two, then three. As the fourth week drew to a close, the news of Lily's nighttime ventures with the now infamous Spot Conlon had spread around the theatre. Lily had been found out by nearly every one of her fellow performers. She could hear them giggle and whisper to each other behind her back as she walked through the hallways. Chatter would suddenly cease and a hush would fall over the room when she walked in, their questioning eyes following her every move.  
  
The only person in the entire company ignorant to the affair was Mantovanni, himself. He was unaware because no one cared to talk to him or to tell him anything, and the girls dared not allow him to find out because they knew he would disapprove. He could not forbid or disallow any one of them to carry on external affairs, but he could very much frown upon it if he did not approve of their choice of company and punish them by denying them certain privileges. It was not unheard of for him to give a girl's solo to someone else, to re-choreograph a number so that a girl usually in the front of the kick line was given an unseen spot in the back, or to refuse an introduction to a rich, eligible bachelor that he was acquainted with to one of his girls who had done something he disapproved of.  
  
He was especially harsh on any of his girls who, as he called, "flitted around with rubbish that she had allowed herself to become too attached to." Mantovanni, Jr. did not smile upon outside affairs with men who had nearly non-existent pocketbooks. For, as he so often reminded his troupe, the theatre thrived on patronage from admiring men. He encouraged them to see men, but only if they possessed a sufficient income from which the theatre could benefit. He had become infamous for the reminder that he offered the girls at least once a week, and they knew his oft-said line so well, they could repeat it with him in perfect unison. "Allow me to make you aware, if you weren't already, that if it were not for our benevolent male patrons that eagerly invest their money into our fine establishment, this theatre could not run. And if this theatre could not run, you lovely ladies who are employed here would be out of a job, causing you to seek your fortune out on the street, starving beside the rest of those desolate urchins. Therefore, I advise you to think twice before doing anything which may jeopardize your future and the future of your fellow performers at this establishment."  
  
It was a trap and Mantovanni knew it. The code of conduct had been originally set in place by his father, and it had proved to be beneficial. The younger Mantovanni had seen this work and knew better than to mess with a good thing, so he left the rules in place. He was aware that he was trapping them, that the girls were all basically penniless and that they depended on their income from the theatre to survive. It was because of their extreme lack of wealth that he knew they would follow the rules, that they would live by his standards in order to continue receiving the comfortable housing, filling meals, and pleasant lifestyle that the theatre provided in return for their pretty faces and long range seduction.  
  
Lily didn't care though. She was quite simply living in utter defiance of the Mantovanni code of conduct, but she did not worry herself over it for one second. She most certainly made sure to refrain from telling Mr. Mantovanni about her late night meetings, but she allowed the girls to think what they would and did nothing to convince them otherwise. The infatuation-induced euphoria that she was living in had placed a rosy glow over her demeanour, and her happiness caused her to be a more reckless than she usually would have allowed herself to be. She didn't mind if the other girls suspected anything. Her heart was on her sleeve and she knew it, but she wore it with a dash a pride and without a second thought, though she had never outwardly told anyone she was doing so. Spot was her secret, her private pleasure. Alone in the magic of the night, beyond the constraint of time or rules, they had created a world all their own. And Lily was not willing to share it with anyone.  
  
However, on the third day of the fourth week of her affair, a Wednesday, just before the afternoon performance, she gave in. She was on her way to the dressing room, her shoes in her hand, humming as she walked. As she opened the door to go into the room, she noticed, yet again, that a hush had fallen over the room and that there were fifteen pairs of eyes now watching her. She looked up find those eyes still looking at her, and sighed. "What could it hurt?" she thought to herself, "It's not as if they don't already know." She looked around at them before sighing another deep sigh, and saying, "Yes." The room burst into laughter, applause, cheers, chatter, and even a few whistles. Lily rolled her eyes, executed a dramatically deep bow, and then, trying to silence them by waving her hands, walked over to her table.  
  
~****~  
  
"Heya Spot?" said a tall boy with a white shirt and a backward brown cap, lightly rapping on the door with his knuckles. He stood hesitating at the doorframe of Spot's room, awaiting Spot's permission to come in.  
  
"Yeah, Quints?" Spot was sitting backward in an old, armless, wooden chair, polishing the head of his cane. He didn't look or even raise his head before he answered. He'd recognized the voice of Quints, one of his boys.  
  
"I'se jis wonderin' if you'se goin to dah pokah game dey's havin ova dere in Queens t'night?" Quints asked, tentatively stepping into Spot's room.  
  
"Nah, I don't t'ink so, Quints," Spot answered, continually polishing the cane and still not looking up.  
  
Quints still stood in the doorframe, looking confused. "Hey, Spot, can I ax-" he started to say, but stopped himself, "Nah, nevamind." He turned to leave, but Spot stopped him.  
  
"What is it? What was ya goin' tah say?" Spot had stopped his polishing and turned around toward the door.  
  
"Well, I" Quints said, hesitating, "I,uh, uh, was, uh, jis goin tah, tah ax ya a question."  
  
"So ax already and stop ya stutterin' in me door."  
  
"Well I'se was goin tah ax ya, uh, well, what's wrong wit ya, Spot. Ya ain't neva heah no more, an' ya don't go tah dah pokah games or nuttin no more. Whatcha been doin?"  
  
Spot returned to his previous position in the chair, his back toward Quints, and resumed original activity of polishing the cane. "I t'ink," he slowly said, "dat what I do or what I don't do ain't none o'ya business."  
  
Quints could detect the tones of the quiet, but growing anger in Spot's voice. He knew better than to cross Spot, so he immediately began apologizing. "Hey, I'm sawwy. I didn't mean nothin' by it, ya know, didn't mean tah offend ya or nuthin. It's jis dat, well," he paused, a little nervous about saying the next part, "people been talkin' round heah and dere. An' I been hearin some rumours, and what dey sayin ain't nuthin' too nice."  
  
Spot slowly raised his head, no longer polishing the cane, but gripping it tightly. His blue eyes flashed and narrowed as he gave a menacing look to the wall in front of him. His upper lip curled a little to reveal a sliver of teeth. He wet his lips with his tongue, and swallowed as though he had tasted something utterly disgusting. Though he was still silent, Quints could detect the rage rising up by the colouring slowly crawling up the back of his neck, colouring it a shade of red. When Spot finally spoke, his voice came out in a low growl. "And jis who are dese people wit dah flappin lips, Quints, huh? Who are dey?"  
  
~***~  
  
"Sugar Pie Why don't you just Come on over here tonight And we can do Whatever you like Just tell me that you Love me."  
  
Lily was onstage for her afternoon performance. There was a good crowd today, more than usual, she noticed. She was gliding across the stage, her steps keeping in time with the rest of the girls as they went through their song,  
  
"Because oh I miss you so Don't you know I'll never let you go"  
  
Lily smiled at one of the men in the audience that had been screaming her name since the number had begun. She then looked down and noticed a young boy in the front row, a newsie most probably, she could tell from his attire and the black ink on his hands. She winked at him as she walked to the front of the stage for her solo.  
  
"You are my only one Under the sun To you I'll be true So don't make me blue Just promise to Love me"  
  
She began stepping back into the formation of girls to continue the routine. As she did, she looked offstage to her left and noticed Spot standing there, hanging on one of the ropes. She was quite surprised to see him back there and almost lost her place. She continued to sing, but raised her eyebrows as she caught Spot's eye, conveying a "what are you doing here" with her eyes.  
  
"Because, oh I need you so Don't you know I'll never let you go"  
  
The chorus had ended again, and it was time for another solo. Lily moved the front, and sang her part- "So, come on over to my place And hold me in your warm embrace We can take a carriage through Central Park And ride around until it gets dark And promise me that you'll always Love me"  
  
When she had finished, and as she was choreographed to do after this part, she glided offstage while the other girls sang the next three bars. However, instead of exiting to the right as she usually did, she went left, in Spot's direction.  
  
As she approached him, she didn't say a word. Spot tried to greet her with a "Hey," but she cut him off. She walked directly to him, threw her arms around him, and kissed him. When the kiss ended, she spoke. "What are you doing here?!?" she asked incredulously.  
  
"Hanging on yer every woid," he answered, smiling and trying to be charming.  
  
"Alright, but you're usually do that from the balcony, not backstage. Why are you backstage?" she asked again.  
  
"Oh yeah, dat," he said, his smile fading. "I had tah talk to ya bout somethun. I ain't gonna be comin' by t'night. I, uh, got some business I gotta take care of."  
  
"Oh, alright," Lily said, trying to conceal her disappointment and wondering what the business could be, but she dared not ask. Instead, she looked over her should to see if her cue was coming up, and noticed that it was rapidly approaching. "Well, um, I have to be getting back out there, now. You can stay if you want."  
  
"Shoah," said Spot.  
  
Lily began to leave, but turned around. "One more thing," she said, walking over to him.  
  
"What's dat?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, just um -" she began to say, but ended her sentence in another kiss. When it was over she calmly walked back onstage to finish her number as though nothing unusual had ever happened.  
  
"Cause I can't stand it anymore I want to see you smiling at my door It's getting late Don't make me wait  
  
Because, oh I need you so Don't you know I'll never let you go  
  
Simply promise me That you'll always Love me."  
  
As the song ended, Lily and the rest of the dancers were greeted by wild applause and cheers. They smiled, waved, took their bows, and then walked offstage to change for the next number.  
  
~***~  
  
It took some time before Lily finally fell asleep that night. As she lie in bed, she couldn't help but thinking what business Spot was taking care of. Though she tried to control it, she couldn't help but feeling the little tinges of jealousy. What could Spot be doing that was more important than being with her? Couldn't he have done it some other time? Why did it have to infringe on their time, their nights, the only time they had?  
  
She sighed a sigh of frustration and turned over in her bed to face the window. Suddenly, her resentment turned into sadness. She missed him, and her desire for him to be there with her outweighed any bitterness she harboured against him. As she gazed at the window, she desperately wanted to see him climbing through. She closed her eyes and tried to will it into being, hoping that he'd maybe changed his mind, or that he'd taken care of his business and was now on his way to her. She forced all of her mind power into somehow telepathically transporting him there. She concentrated and wished with all of her might, frightened to open her eyes at the possible disappointment of him not being there. When she finally did, the disappointment was waiting for her because, of course, he was not there. She sighed again and told herself that she was an idiot for thinking she could transport him there with her mind, and that she was an idiot for waiting for something that was not going to happen. She rolled over to face the wall, instead and tried hard not to think of him, not to miss him, but she failed. Until she finally fell into slumber, she missed him and hated his absence every second.  
  
~***~  
  
Night had turned into the early hours of morning when Spot reached the Mantovanni Theatre. As quietly and as quickly as he could manage, he scaled the familiar fire escape that led to a window above the left wing of the stage.  
  
As he climbed through the window she'd left open out of habit and wishful thinking, he saw that she was already sleeping. Her back was turned to him, the soft moonlight filtering from the window onto her back and hair. He took a deep breath, still standing at the window, and just looked at for a moment, his eyes tracing the hilly landscape her sleeping body made.  
  
He took off his hat and set it on the windowsill. As he walked over toward her, he took the slingshot out of his back pocket and placed it on the nightstand, and then took the cane out of his belt loop and did the same. Silently and making an effort to not wake Lily, Spot undid his suspenders and tossed them on the floor. He took of his shoes, first his left, and then his right, and also placed them on the floor. His socks came off, and his shirt he pulled over his head, both finding resting places on the floor. Then, as noiselessly, and as gently as he could managed, he lifted the covers and crawled into bed with her.  
  
She moaned and turned over, awakening. Her eyes still heavy and blurry with sleep, she at first could not make out what was happening. When she could distinguish a tall, thin shadowy figure climbing into bed with her, her heart leapt and then soared. She smiled sleepily and said in a soft, hoarse voice, "Spot." He smiled back at her. She yawned and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle it. "I thought you weren't coming."  
  
He smiled again, and took the yawn-stifling hand in his as he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "Well, I gotta surprise ya every now and den."  
  
His hand came to his throat as he reached for the key on a string that hung there. He pulled it over his head and went to place it on the nightstand. As he turned to do so, his face came into full moonlight, and Lily could see his face. His right eye was blackened, and his bottom lip cut and swollen. Lily reached over and let her hand graze his face. He turned back toward her, knowing that she had noticed his injuries. He shrugged and said, "Ah, it ain't nuttin."  
  
Lily raised her left eyebrow. "I believe I already know the answer, but I'll ask anyway," she said, "Might this be somehow related to the business that needed taking care of?"  
  
Spot's voice was stern and evasive as he looked away and replied, "Don't you worry yaself about dat."  
  
She brought her hand up to gently touch his right eyebrow. He winced slightly, trying not to let her see. "Does it hurt?" she asked.  
  
Spot took a deep breath and moment before he looked her in the eye, and answered most seriously and most assuredly. "Hey," he said, "Right now, I'm here wit you. I can't even feel it. Ain't nuttin in the woild hoits right now."  
  
Lily's face softened, her lips growing into a soft smile, as she pulled Spot downward toward her. Spot let himself fall into her warm embrace. He kissed her cheek, and inhaled deeply, letting the scent of her enter his body, as a soft moan escaped his lips. With his right hand, he began to undo the buttons on her nightgown. Lily felt her body begin to tense up at this action. She could feel herself start to object, but as she looked into his eyes and felt the warmth of him overtake her, no power on earth, much less her own, could make her stop him.  
  
Spot finished unbuttoning her collar and pulled on one side of it until her shoulder was bare. He then kissed it and began to trace her collarbone and then her neck with kisses. She tilted her head back as he kissed her chin. She could feel her entire body come alive as her heart began to race. When he reached her mouth and their lips met, Spot suddenly recoiled. He reared back and sucked air into his mouth as if in pain. "Oh, Spot, I'm sorry.."Lily began to say, but he stopped her with a shake of his head and a whisper of "nuthin hoits." With that, he held her faced in his hands, and came toward her, kissing her fully and deeply.  
  
Still kissing her, Spot began to rise until he had led Lily into a sitting position. He undid the rest of her buttons and pulled the gown over her head and onto the floor. Soon all remaining clothing articles had been discarded and tossed onto the floor, leaving only bare skin between them. "Are you shoah? Tell me dat you want dis. Tell me yes," Spot whispered to her, his voice a little uncertain.  
  
"Yes," she replied, "yes." Closing her eyes, she surrendered herself to Spot's control. She became lost to the outside world and could only feel his hands brush across her body and his kiss her on neck. When he finally became one with her, Lily opened her eyes to see his head drop as he breathed a deep sigh. Her first thought was to be alarmed, and she almost spoke to question whether anything was wrong. Instead she stopped herself, realizing that it was quite the opposite. Spot Conlon, the mighty leader of Brooklyn and seducer of a thousand women, was faltering, quivering in her presence. She smiled, pulled him closer to her, and kissed him.  
  
In the midst of their bodies' silent communication, lost somewhere in the tangles of embraces, kisses, and warmth, it happened. Lily wasn't sure if it had, for she at first couldn't distinguish it from much more than a moan or a sigh from the quietness of it and possibly from the disbelief of hearing it. Nonetheless, it had actually occurred, and though she had at first doubted it, it was the very thing she had believed it to be, the very thing she wished it to be, and the very thing dared not hope for. There, as they mingled in the throes of passion, Spot leaned over, and into her ear and uttered a faint whisper: "I love you."  
  
Hours later, after everything was said and done, she watched him sleeping silently. Sleep, as usual, did not come easy to her. However, this night she did not mind. She was content to watch his peaceful slumber, to softly laugh at his unconscious facial expressions, and to think of the dreams he must be having. The moonlight illuminated him fully now, and she for the first time that night, she was able to see him clearly. She pulled the sheet back a little and noticed bruises on his chest and side. They matched his black eye and his cut lip. She cringed at the thought of what he must have done to acquire them. "That's some business you took care of, Spot Conlon," she whispered to his still sleeping, unhearing body.  
  
~***~  
  
When day broke and sunlight filtered through the window, Spot was already awake. His internal clock was set to awaken him with the dawn. He had gotten out of bed and was half dressed. He finished buttoning his shirt and pulled his suspenders onto his shoulders. He went to the nightstand and picked up the shoelace with the key. Slipping it over his head, he looked at Lily and smiled. Leaning over the bed, he kissed her on the cheek. She moaned and turned over in the bed to face him, but remained asleep. He reached for his slingshot and put it in his back pocket. The cane he picked up and slipped into his belt loop. Grabbing his hat and heading for the window, he turned around once more to glance at Lily before putting it on his head and climbing out of the window.  
  
About an hour later, Lily awoke. Still in a sleep-induced haze, she reached over to where Spot had been, but found nothing there. Turning toward the empty side of the bed, her hand found a note on the pillow. Rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes, she saw that it was written on her personal stationary, with the monogrammed L.F. at the top. She began to read the scrawling, scratched writing of Spot's hand. It said,  
  
"You didn't think I'd leave without sayin goodbye, did you? You look so peaceful sleeping there that I didn't want to wake you up. I wouldn't be setting no good example for me boys if I drag meself up to and go to work with the rest of them. But you should know that I wanted to just stay in bed with you. So, think of me while I'm out here working me bum off and miss me or something too. And what I said last night - I meant that. Don't you forget that.  
  
S."  
  
~***~  
  
Later that day, after the morning's selling, Spot was walking the streets of Manhattan. He had just been "finishing up" the business of the previous night that he had told no one about. Noontime was drawing near, so he decided to drop into Tibby's to grab a bite to eat with the other newsies that were certain to be there.  
  
Much as he expected, he was greeted with familiar voices as he pushed open the door to Tibby's and walked inside. "Hey Spot," said Skittery in between bites. Spot returned Skittery's greeting, and patted Boots' shoulder as he walked by him. He headed toward a booth in the corner that he had seen Race, Blink, and Mush sitting at.  
  
"Heya Spot," said Race, as Spot slid in next to him.  
  
"Heya Race," Spot replied, "Blink, Mush."  
  
The other two nodded and returned Spot's greeting as Spot ordered. He listened to Race tell his latest story of his day at Sheepshead and the poker game the other night in Queens as he waited for his food to come. In the middle of retelling how his big hand had beat ol' Red Stevens, Race stopped. "Hey, uh, Spot," he said, "how come you'se wasn't at dah game last night? Ya nevah miss a big pokah game, 'specially one wheah you'se got a chance o' beatin dose ol' queenies clean out of a few bucks."  
  
Spot shrugged as his plate of food was placed down in front of him. "I, uh, jis' had some stuff tah do," he said.  
  
"Our Spot heah is a very busy man. He's got lots o'stuff tah do, ya know. He can't be wastin his time wit us at some pokah game," said a voice coming up behind him.  
  
Spot recognized the voice, but looked over his shoulder to make sure. "Heya Jacky-boy," he muttered.  
  
"Hey Spot," Jack said. "So, uh, why dontcha enlighten us by telling us what important stuff ya had to take care of."  
  
Spot said nothing in response. He was annoyed, but he was trying not to let it show. He continued eating, still not speaking. "Oh, come on, Spot," Jack pushed, "Ya ain't gonna tell us? Wait, I know what it is. It's dat goil. Ya been spendin' all ya time wit her."  
  
Spot stopped eating, but did not turn to face Jack. "Yeah," he muttered in a low tone, "at least I ain't spendin' all me time wit a prissy bitch like Sarah."  
  
Jack didn't immediately respond. He stood silently, thinking. "Yeah, well," he finally said, "ya got me dere." He paused again. "So, uh, Spot, tell me, dis goil o'yours, Lily, you been wit her for what, four weeks now? That ain't like you, Spot. You tryin' to set some record or somethin'?"  
  
"She must be somethin' real special, huh, Jack?" Blink spoke up.  
  
"Yeah," Mush chimed in, laughing.  
  
Spot was silent. He kept eating and tried to ignore them, yet he could feel the back of his neck beginning to burn as anger worked its way through him. In order to not lose his cool and in Lily's defense, he felt he had to say something. "Yeah, well, ya know, dis goil ain't like the udders. She's different. She's better dan all dem udder goils. She's better den us even."  
  
Jack laughed. "Yeah, Spot," he said, sniffing, and scratching his nose with his thumb, "I'm shoah she is. An' since she's so special, dat must be some mighty fine ass you been getting'."  
  
Jack's comment was all it took to push Spot over the edge. He threw his fork down, jumped up from his seat and grabbed Jack by the collar. "You take back dem words, Kelly," he growled through his teeth, or I'm gonna force em' back down ya damn troat and make ya eat 'em!"  
  
Spot had begun to shake Jack when Race, Blink, and Mush scrambled up from their seats to come to Jack's rescue. "Hey, hey, Spot, stop!" Mush said, and "Let 'em go, Spot," chimed in Blink. "Easy, Spot, easy, calm down!" said Race. The boys were all speaking at the same time, frantically trying to prevent a fight from breaking out between two of their friends.  
  
They managed to pull Spot off of Jack and sat him down. "Dat's it," Race said, "jis' calm down dere. Jack didn't mean nothin'."  
  
"Yeah, Spot, sawwy. I didn't know ya'd get so offended. I didn't mean nothin' by it, honest." Jack said. He spit in his hand and offered it out to Spot.  
  
Spot didn't move. He stared at Jack's outstretched hand for what seemed like eternity, still fuming. Finally, he spit in his own hand, and shook Jack's.  
  
Spot took two more bites of his food, threw some change on the table, and then stormed out of the restaurant.  
  
"S'matter wid him?" Jack asked, still a little shook up from Spot's attack.  
  
"Ya didn't heah?" Specs asked coming up to Jack. "Spot, dere got into a little scrap with a guy from dah Bronx las' night. Messed 'em up real good. Heard dah guy could barely walk when he got trew wid 'em."  
  
"Ova what?" Jack asked.  
  
"I dunno," Race said, joining them, "but I bet ya it's got somethin' tah do wit dat goil."  
  
~***~  
  
To be continued.... 


	6. Part VI

Part VI  
  
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.  
  
The ticking of the clock penetrated the silent, still dark in the room. Lily was unable to sleep. She lay in Spot's arms and watched the ambiguous, nighttime shadows dance across her walls. He had not stirred in some time, and his gentle, even breathing suggested that he had already entered into a state of peaceful slumber. Lily dared not to move for fear of waking him. Instead she remained at his side, still and unmoving, lost in her thoughts.  
  
A wind blew through the window that Spot was accustomed to leaving open. Lily shivered. "Dammit, Spot," she mouthed, almost silently, "why can't you for once just close the damn window?" She pulled the covers around her more tightly, and returned to her thoughts. Realizing that she was no closer to sleep than she was an hour ago, and pressing ideas weighing heavily on her mind, she spoke. "Spot?" she said softly.  
  
He stirred slightly and moaned, but did not reply. Thinking that he must still be asleep, she tried again. "Spot?" she said more loudly.  
  
He moaned once again, but this time he opened his eyes. "Mmmmmm, whaddya want?" he asked groggily, his annoyance at being awakened showing in his voice.  
  
She paused, now thinking herself silly for having woken him up. She bit at the skin around her thumbnail before finally speaking. "Spot, do you ever think of leaving?"  
  
"Whah, like leavin' Brooklyn?" he said, his voice still heavy with sleep.  
  
"Yes, like leaving Brooklyn. Like leaving New York, even. Going to, oh, I don't know... Paris, or Italy, or...Pennsylvania, even. Somewhere better than here."  
  
"Nah."  
  
"Never?"  
  
"Nah."  
  
Lily was silent again. "I don't think we should see each other for a while," she finally said.  
  
"You, you what?" Spot questioned, as awake as he could manage and propping himself up on one arm so that he could see Lily's face. "Did I do somethin'? Cause ya'd tell me if I did, right? Right? Ya'd tell me?" He had begun to sound a bit panicked in his confusion.  
  
"No," she replied, "It's not that you did or didn't do anything. It's just that, well, you know, well....the girls are beginning to talk..and, and then there's this new girl, Eva, and I don't think she's very fond of me...no, fond would definitely not be the word I'd use. She's seems a bit, um, how can I say this, well, she's seems like she's got some hidden agenda become the star of New York in two weeks, flat. And well, since I'm standing in her way a bit, and from the way that she looks at me, I can't help but think that she's harbouring some kind of secret plan to ruin me. So, if she found out about us, since you know, I'm not exactly allowed to see you.... if she found out about us, then she'd surely go and tell Mantovanni and then, of course, that would be the end of my career, and I'd have to take up residence on the street or get some horrid job in a factory making not nearly enough and everything would just end very, very badly. So, as I said before, I think it best if we don't see each other for a while. Just for a few days, to try to maybe lessen the chances of me being found out, and being thrown out onto the street, and then having to live in the gutters, and general tragedy ensuing by-"  
  
"Wait, wait, hold on, yer makin' me head spin. Now, lemme see if I got dis straight - you'se sayin' dat we can't see each udder for a few days cause some goil who don't like ya too much might go an' tattle on ya, and den you might get thrown out on dah street?"  
  
"Yes, that's basically what I'm saying."  
  
Spot narrowed his eyes. "Alright, so one more time, lemme see if I understand dis.you ain't allowed to see me and if dah big shot boss guy 'round heah finds out dat you are, he's gonna throw ya out?"  
  
Lily nodded.  
  
"An' why dah hell didn't ya tell me dis befoah? Dat you seein' me could get ya in trouble..."  
  
"Well," Lily began, "it's not as if I'm technically not forbidden to see you or anyone else for that matter. It's just that.." She sighed and closed her eyes, realizing how silly and superficial her next words would sound. "Mr. Mantovanni," she began, "doesn't... particularly like for us to see men, if the men we are seeing are not able to financially invest in the theatre. Let me put this another way - this theatre thrives on its male patrons, especially the patrons that infatuated with any of us. Mantovanni prefers that we either remain unattached so that we can appear more available to the throngs of men, or that we attach ourselves to wealthy men. For, in either case, money will come into the theatre, either by admission to shows, or donations. And as you can probably see, this works out to both his and our advantages. He pockets a good deal of it, and we who are dependent on the theatre for, well, everything get to continue living a fairly comfortable lifestyle. Now, in my years of being here, he's never thrown a girl out on the street, but I would not put such a thing out of his reach. He's got ways of punishing those who disregard his code of conduct, and the punishments are not very nice. So, either way, it's quite important that I stay in his good graces in order to continue working here. And I cannot let a silly, ambitious little girl ruin it because I wasn't behaving intelligently enough to watch my step and prevent such a thing from happening."  
  
"Jo, why didn't ya just tell me dis befoah?"  
  
"Why should I have? It's such a silly, stupid thing, and it's not as though telling you could have actually changed anything."  
  
"Still, it ain't right for ya tah go witholdin' stuff like dat from me." Spot was becoming annoyed.  
  
Lily scoffed. "Well, it's not like you tell me every little thing either...." Spot groaned. "..and don't you make that face, Conlon, you know it's true. There's so many things that you haven't told me."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Oh, you want me to name one?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. Go 'head and name somethun'" Spot challenged.  
  
"Well, like your name for one. What is your real name anyway?"  
  
"It's Spot."  
  
"Oh, I don't believe you. You're so incredibly full of shit, Conlon. You really expect me to believe that at birth your mother actually named you Spot?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"Shaddup. Me name is Spot. Period." He paused. "Whaddabout you? Ya ain't told me yer last name eithah."  
  
She laughed. "No, I'm not telling you. You're not getting out of this. I asked you first."  
  
"Why do we gotta be talkin' bout dis now? I ain't talkin' no more. Leave me alone, and lemme sleep fuh Crissakes." He laid back down on his side and turned away from her.  
  
"You're just evading the question. You never tell me anything, and then you get mad, no, you get all caught up in a full blow murderous rage when I don't tell you every little detail about every little thing."  
  
"Shaddup, Jo," he warned, his voice muffled by the pillow.  
  
"Fine, have it your way. I just won't talk to you at all." With a huff, she laid back down angrily, but did not close her eyes. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, silently fuming at Spot's stubbornness.  
  
After what seemed like eternity, she heard Spot say quietly, without turning around, "Nathaniel."  
  
"August," was her reply.  
  
Suddenly, Spot sat up and looked at her. "Yer name's Josephine August?"  
  
"Yes. Josephine Margot August. Why?"  
  
"Nutthin, it just sounds like somethin' out of a book or something. Josephine August."  
  
Lily shrugged.  
  
Spot's mood suddenly changed as a sly smile came over his face. "Hey, uh, Josephine August, since we ain't gonna be seein' each udder for a little while, how's about you and me...."  
  
~***~  
  
A few days later, Lily was sitting in the private sitting room of the theatre in between shows reading Tess of the D'urbervilles again, when an envelope was dropped into her lap. She looked up from her book to see Mantovanni standing in front of her. Picking up the envelope and eyeing it, she asked, "What's this?"  
  
"It's an invitation," he said straightening his glasses, "to a dinner party that the 42 Street Brannicks are having Thursday night. They like to consider themselves patrons of the arts, especially the performing arts. Vaudeville they find the most entertaing. It seems as though they, or I should probably infer that it's Mr. Brannick, have been longtime admirers of yours and are wishing to make your acquaintance. They're new money and probably most undoubtedly looking for something or shall I say, someone, which to spend it on. Therefore, I suggest that you do attend."  
  
"A dinner party," Lily said with fake enthusiasm and a forced smile, "how lovely."  
  
"Now, Miss Fox, do you have something appropriate to wear or shall you be needing to purchase something?"  
  
"With all due respect, I do believe, Mr. Mantovanni, that I can manage."  
  
"Very well," said Mantovanni, turning to leave. He was almost out of the door, when he stopped to add one last thing. "Oh, Miss Fox, you will notice that the invitation states that you may bring a guest. Might I suggest that you bring another female...For, you see, the Brannicks have three sons of marrying age, who, I am sure, are seeking a wife."  
  
"I shall take your opinion into consideration. Thank you."  
  
Mantovanni nodded and proceeded out of the door. As soon as he was out of sight, Lily rolled her eyes and sighed.  
  
She opened the cream-coloured envelope to find another cream-coloured card inside. It had gold embossed writing, and read:  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Edward Brannick  
  
Of 1187 42 Street  
  
Request the honor of your company  
  
At their home  
  
On Thursday, October 11, 1900  
  
At 7 o'clock pm.  
  
"Grand, just grand," Lily thought to herself. She didn't want to go to some dinner party thrown by some rich old couple putting on airs as though they had been born into luxury. She didn't want to meet their three equally rich and equally eligible sons. She knew what would happen. They would meet her and act as though they were delighted to partake in an "intelligent" conversation with her involving the weather and how poor of a job the mayor was doing. Then, at the first available opportunity, they'd lead her to a piano and ask her to sing a few songs for them. After the songs, they'd offer her a glass of wine and then introduce her to their sons after she was a bit tipsy. Yes, she knew how it would go. And though everything in her screamed in protest against it, she knew she would go, because she was obligated to.  
  
Sighing deeply, she closed her book, rose from her chair, and headed upstairs. When she arrived at Faye's door, she knocked and awaited her answer.  
  
She heard Faye's usual, "Entre!" and swung open the door to find her sewing lace onto the collar of an old blouse. Faye's favourite thing in the world was clothing. She spent every minute of her free time making new outfits or improving upon her old ones.  
  
"What do you think?" Faye asked, holding up the blouse to show Lily her handiwork, "Is it too much?"  
  
"It looks just like you, Faye," Lily answered, still standing in the doorframe.  
  
"Good," said Faye returning to her sewing, "that was my intention."  
  
"Listen Faye," Lily began, "I know that you are just dying to do this, so I'm going to ask you right now and spare you the agony of waiting. Would you like to come to a dinner party with me Thursday night?"  
  
"No," said Faye, not looking up.  
  
"But, oh, Faye, you have to go. Because I have to go. A few minutes ago, Mantovanni waltzed by and flung this invitation to the Brannicks' dinner party in my lap, and he basically demands, without actually demanding, that I attend and that I attend with another girl so as not to jeopardize meeting their three rich, creepy sons! So, please Faye, don't make me go alone. I'll just die! Please, you have to come with me. Faye, please! I'm begging!"  
  
"Oh, alright, fine! Just stop groveling, will you?" Faye said, sounding annoyed. "Well, at least it will give me an opportunity to wear that blue dress I've just finished working on." She looked up at Lily, and said, "That is, assuming that my 'date' approves.."  
  
"Oh, Faye, I don't give a damn what you wear. I'm just so happy right now that I could kiss you!" Lily replied.  
  
~***~  
  
Ting, ting, ting.  
  
"Excuse me everyone," Mrs. Brannick called out as she tapped a knife on the side of her champagne class several more times, "we have some newcomers to our little gathering tonight. Please join me in welcoming Miss Lily Fox and Miss Faye Monroe!"  
  
"Hear, hear!" someone bellowed, as the room erupted in chatter and the clanking of glasses.  
  
Lily and Faye had been standing in a corner of the large, ornately decorated room, in an attempt to go unnoticed and perhaps escape the frivolous small talk with the upper class strangers gathered there that night. They both softly groaned at Mrs. Brannick's announcement, but donned wide, winning smiles when everyone in the room raised their glasses to toast them.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Faye saw Mrs. Brannick heading over to where they were standing. She had three young men closely following behind her. "Don't look now," Faye said under her breath, "but over your left shoulder, something wicked this way comes. And it's looks as though she's bringing her three sons with her. I'm sure we'll soon be hearing a discourse on what fine husbands they will make." Lily only had time to curl her lip in disgust before their hostess was upon them.  
  
"Oh, Miss Fox!" Mrs, Brannick squealed upon reaching them, "Miss Fox, I'd like you to meet my sons. This is Edward Jr, he's the oldest. Henry, and then Tom, Thomas our youngest. Edward is a lawyer, quite a successful one at that, I might add.and our Tom's at Havard studying..."  
  
Lily tuned out what Mrs. Brannick was saying to her. Still smiling and nodding as though she were paying attention, she became lost in her own thoughts and her mind wandered back to Spot. The past week had felt like an eternity as she constantly tried to find things to do, to busy herself so that she might take her mind off of him. She'd been through six books, tidied her room several times, mended the tears in her clothing, and sewed lace on collars and sleeves with Faye. Despite all of that, rehearsals (several in which she had to teach Eva, the new bitch of a girl a few routines), and performances, her efforts to become forgetful failed. She found herself thinking of Spot at every possible, and sometimes every quite inopportune, moment, and wondering what good this separation could be doing. Of course, it was accomplishing her stated purpose of keeping herself out of trouble, but it didn't seem as though she were in any danger. Eva was quite content in bettering herself though constant rehearsals and general brown-nosing toward Mantovanni that it didn't seem that she'd noticed Lily's illicit affair.  
  
Her unspoken motive had been accomplished also. She'd kept this reason from Spot, but it was her foremost reason for suggesting time apart. She was afraid, deathly and terribly afraid that he would get tired of her. From his past, Lily knew that Spot did not possess a particularly long attention span when it came to girls. It seemed to her as though she were just waiting for him to lose interest in her also. She didn't like the ominous feeling of dread that she got while waiting for her "turn" to go, and she though that if she could do something to prevent it, she would. So, she had. And where had it gotten her? The answer was a resounding nowhere. She had gotten nowhere but miserable. Was it even worth it? Was her self- imposed misery and longing for him worth trying to save the bond between them that she was not even sure was in jeopardy?  
  
"...sing for us after dinner. Won't you dear?" Mrs. Brannick had finally finished her long winded monologue and was now addressing a question to Lily. She hadn't heard the first part, in fact, she hadn't heard very much of what Mrs. Brannick had said at all. However, she did not need Mrs. Brannick to repeat what she had previously said in order to know what was asked. Lily had heard the request time after time.  
  
"I'd be very happy to," she responded, "and I'm certain that Faye would love to accompany me." Lily didn't need to turn around to picture the look of disgust plaguing Faye's face as she aimed bolts of lightning from her eyes Lily's head for being volunteered to participate in the wretched act of schmoozing that they both hated so much.  
  
"Wonderful, then it's settled. I'll inform my dear cousin, Jonathan, that his piano playing expertise will be showcased tonight. I'm sure he'll be delighted!" Mrs. Brannick skipped off in utter joy to inform her cousin that of his appointment.  
  
"I hate you," Faye growled at Lily.  
  
"Oh, go to hell," Lily responded cheerily.  
  
~***~  
  
After the dinner party was over, and the two captives were released from the Brannick home, they hurriedly set off for the theatre. Faye chattered away about the awfulness of the event and everyone there, but Lily was quiet, an idea forming in her mind.  
  
"And did you see that Miss Chapman's dress? Oh, it was hilarious! She looked like a peacock!" Faye exclaimed, laughing.  
  
They had reached the theatre and Faye and Lily turned and went into the lobby.  
  
Lily emerged a moment later, calling out over her shoulder, "Yes, Faye, I'm sure. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine!"  
  
She pulled her cloak tightly around her and began walking.  
  
~***~  
  
Lily was about halfway to her destination when the sky that had been threatening rain for days finally opened up and poured its contents down upon her. She shivered as she put the hood of her cloak over her head and pulled it closer and more tightly around her body.  
  
Her attempts to keep herself dry failed completely. For, by the time she had reached the door of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House and pushed it open, she was completely soaked. As she entered the dimly lit room, the old man at the desk looked up at her, his surprise to see a soaking wet girl wandering into the lodging house at such a late hour evident on his face. Lily removed her hood, found her voice, and murmured, "Spot Conlon?"  
  
"Upstairs," the man replied, pointing.  
  
Lily looked left, where the man had pointed, and her eyes fell upon a dark staircase. "Thank you," she said softly.  
  
As Lily walked up the creaking staircase, she realized how silly she must have seemed. How many times must other girls come through that door to inquire about Spot's whereabouts, just as she had done? How many times must the old man have directed those same girls up the stairs, just as he had done for her?  
  
The old wooden planks of the stairs creaked under her step as she climbed higher. Her heart began to race as she pushed wet strands of hair off of her face. When she reached the top, she could see a light coming from a room down the hall to her left. Nervousness suddenly took over her as she paused at the top and she began to bite at her thumb's cuticle. Resolving that she'd never leave her current position if she did not overcome her now overwhelming fear, she gathered up every ounce of her courage and began to walk toward the lighted room.  
  
When she pushed open the door, every boy's face in the room turned toward her. They were mostly all sitting on the floor in a circle, the ragged group of them, smoking and drinking, cards and various items in the middle of the circle. A few were sitting on the surrounding bunks, watching the ones on the floor. Lily had obviously interrupted their poker game and now they were all turned toward her, the frightened looking girl standing mute, soaking and dripping in their doorway, awaiting to find out the reason for the sudden interruption.  
  
She looked around at all of their unfamiliar faces before her eyes finally lit on a recognizable one. To the far right, leaning against and almost hidden by a bunk bed sat Spot, wearing only trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. His unused suspenders were still attached to his pants and a cigar hung from his lips. His face was as startled as the other boys,' but a slight smile played on his lips. He threw his hand into the middle of the pile. "Deal me outta dis one fellas," he said, rising to his feet and walking toward the door.  
  
Realizing what a mess she must be, Lily quickly pushed the wet, matted curls off of her face and straightened her skirt in an attempt to pull herself back together before Spot reached her. When he did reach her, he said nothing, but gently pushed her out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. It was dark, but Lily could see Spot's right eyebrow rise as his expression questioned her silently. She opened her mouth to speak, but Spot silenced her with a "Ssh," and a wave of his hand. "Not heah," he whispered, "dere all listenin at the door."  
  
He nodded in the direction over her left shoulder. Taking her elbow, he led her past one door, and onto the second, which he opened, went into, and then shut behind them. The room was completely pitch black. Lily stood in one place so as not to trip over anything. She heard Spot fumble around for something, then the sound of a match being stuck as Spot lit a lamp, which he hung from a hook in the ceiling.  
  
Lily squinted her eyes, letting them focus. She could now make out that she was in a bedroom that contained one set of bunk beds, though the top bunk seemed to be never used. There was a chair and a dresser with a cracked mirror and a few assorted objects on the top, one of them being a slingshot, another an empty alcohol bottle. Beside the dresser, was a very rugged looking square trunk with a pair of worn shoes beside it. A few newspaper clippings and pictures lined the walls. It was Spot's own private room, she deduced. Her conclusion was reinforced when her eyes fell on the cane lying on the floor beside the bed. The air in the room was musty and smelled of cigar and old wood.  
  
Spot walked over to the dresser and snubbed out his cigar in a tin cup. He turned back to face Lily and finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly, " So, whaddaya doin' heah?"  
  
Lily started to answer the question. "Well, I-," But as she began to speak she noticed a picture, clipped from a paper, no doubt, pinned to the wall behind Spot. She walked over to it to inspect it more carefully. Inspecting it, she smiled as her suspicions were confirmed. She had thought she had seen Spot in the right hand side of the picture, and sure enough, it was actually he. As she scanned the picture once more, she recognized Jack, Race, Blink, and many other boys that she had met at the party in the pub weeks ago. "Spot, is this you?" she asked, knowing the answer.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, coming over to her.  
  
"I thought so." She laughed, "Look at you, you're so small here, and skinny!" She read over the accompanying article that detailed the strike of last year. "Oh, I remember hearing about this," she said.  
  
"Look, Jo, I know ya didn't come all dah way ovah heah in the pourin' rain to talk about dah strike last yeah and how skinny I was."  
  
"No. You're right," Lily said quietly. She took off her wet cloak and draped it on the back of the chair.  
  
"That's some dress," Spot said, "ya been at some pahty or somethin'?"  
  
"Yes, actually. That's part of the reason why I'm here." She paused to look at Spot, who was seated on the bottom bunk, watching her every move. "I, um..,"she cleared her throat and looked at the floor, her reason for being there suddenly seeming silly and weak - so much so that she became embarrassed and did not want to tell him. She could feel her cheeks start to burn, for she knew he was still staring at her, awaiting her answer. "You see," she began again, "I went to this dinner party given by the Brannicks. Have you heard of them? No? Well, they're horribly rich, of course, and invited me to the dinner party, as I've said already. Mr. Mantovanni thinks it is a good career move, for both my career and his, so I went. And it was, well, it went fine, you know, as fine as dinner parties can be -," she stopped and looked up at him, looked into his blue eyes and suddenly felt that she had to tell him the truth, she had to give him the reason why she'd trudged all the way in the rain and why she'd go even more if she had to. "Spot, I'm lying. It was horrid. It was horribly boring and uncomfortable. And I know that I said that we needed to spend some time away from each other and everything, but the entire time, the only thing I could think of was you, and how much I would have rather been in my room, lying in your arms, instead of eating any fabulously prepared, decadent seven course meal with any rich persons who could further my career!"  
  
Spot didn't answer her. He remained seated and silent, continuing his stare.  
  
"God," started Lily again, embarrassed and hating herself for appearing so dependent and weak, " now you think I'm pathetic. Pathetic and silly. And stupid. Bloody hell. I should have just..I shouldn't have come." She turned away from him so that she he couldn't see her face.  
  
Spot quietly rose from his seat and came up behind her. When he put his hands on her shoulders, she turned around to look into his eyes. Still saying nothing, he enveloped her in an embrace and kissed her. As their mouths touched, she could taste the cigar and the faint remains of alcohol...gin, she guessed. She could always pick out the distinct taste of the drink, for it reminded her of Christmas, tasting of evergreen trees.  
  
As she pulled away, she looked into his blue-gray eyes and knew what he wanted. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair to the side. He began to undo the line of buttons of her dress.  
  
~***~  
  
Afterward, she lay on her side facing wall, Spot was behind her, sleeping. She was uncomfortable, the bed hard and lumpy, much unlike her own was making her side ache and her arm underneath the pillow had long fallen asleep, but she refrained from moving in order to not disturb Spot. She turned her head slightly to smell the pillow and sighed. The entire bed smelled of sex, perfume, and smoke. She heart suddenly lurched and dropped into her stomach as she thought of all the other girls that had been there before her. Spot began to move, he moaned softly and tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her into him.  
  
With his slight motion, she forgot about all the other girls and the discomfort of her body. She could feel no pain anymore, and it was as he once said, "I'm here with you, nothing hurts." She felt her heart swell and her love for him grew inside of her, so much so that for the first time, it journeyed to her lips and passed through. "I love you," she whispered to him, knowing that he couldn't hear her, but hoping that he would have subconsciously have heard and know. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep.  
  
Just as she had finally begun to doze off, Spot awoke. "Jo," he whispered in his still sleep-laden voice, "shouldn't we be gettin' ya home now? S'late."  
  
"No, I think I'll just say here tonight."  
  
"Ya shoah?" he asked, "I don't wanna get you in trouble or nothin'."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Alright," he said, kissing her cheek and lying down to go back to sleep.  
  
~***~  
  
The next morning, Spot offered to walk her back, but she refused. She wanted to walk by herself, to take in and reflect everything that had happened the previous night. She took her time walking back, her feet seemingly not touching the ground as she floated down the sidewalks.  
  
She came across a newsie of only about 9 or 10. "Buy me pape, Miss?" he asked her, and though Lily never bothered reading any newspaper, she bought one from the boy, paid him a nickel and told him to keep the difference.  
  
When her leisurely paced step finally led her back to the theatre and she went in, she was greeted by Eva, the new girl. Eva was smirking and had a smug, satisfied look on her face. "Mr. Mantovanni wants to see ya right away," she said, still smiling smugly, "He's in his office." Her tone indicated that something wonderful could not possibly be in store for Lily.  
  
"Alright," Lily said, making her way to the office. As she walked away, she could feel Eva's eyes on her, boring holes into the back of her head.  
  
~***~  
  
To be continued... 


	7. Part VII

Part VII  
  
The sun was just beginning to rise in the east as Spot flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the East River. After a seeming endless night of tossing and turning, he'd finally given up on sleep and ventured out into the early morning darkness to mull over the thoughts that plagued his mind. He'd sat on the edge of the pier at the docks for nearly two hours, lost in thought as he slowly took drag after drag from his cigarette.  
  
There was talk in the lodging house. Talk of him and his relationship with Jo. Though the boys never said anything to him, he'd overheard them talking more than once, and more than once he'd felt the hush go over the boys and all eyes turn toward him as he entered a room. On top of all that, he'd felt a change in the way they looked at him, in the way they spoke to him. In the way they'd thought of him.  
  
They thought he was a fool. Yes, they though he was a fool for devoting so much time and energy to someone who had made a career out of entertaining men. Obviously the reputation that a dancing girl in a vaudeville hall gained was far less than respectable, and it seemed that his Jo had not escaped it. Promiscuous - yes that was the word that Scotty had used. Bastard - he was always using overly big words to try to make himself seem better than he was.  
  
"Ya know, Spotty, dose goils ova dere are known for bein' promiscuous and dat sorta thing. So, if I was you'se, I'd be keepin' a close eye on dat goil o' yours."  
  
Try as he may, Spot couldn't seem to get the older boy's words out of his head. They rang in his ears constantly and repeated in his mind at night while he desperately tried to sleep. However, Scotty wasn't the first to subtly imply that Lily wasn't in the habit of being faithful. At first, it was easy for Spot to simply throw off their words in disbelief. Now, it had become not quite as easy to forget. But did he believe them?  
  
He was most obviously stuck between a rock and a hard place, he'd thought . On one hand, it pained him to think of losing his beloved to anyone. On the other, his status and the survival of his reputation depended on the respect of his boys. If he didn't have their respect he had nothing. But how could they respect a fool? A fool who wasn't smart enough to see what was going on or strong enough to do something about it. No, they wouldn't follow a fool, would they? Despite the hurt and trapped feeling that had overtaken him, he felt angry. She'd injured his pride and it angered him to think that she was betraying him and thinking him stupid enough not to notice.  
  
But he didn't know if any of his suspicions were actually true. If he'd acted on his impulses and then found out that there was no truth to any of it, then he'd have destroyed perhaps the best thing he'd ever had. What could he do? He could send out some of his birds, his little information- gatherers. They were good at doing his dirty work, leaving him with clean hands. But he couldn't do that to Jo. He wouldn't spy on her like that.  
  
Could he simply ask her? Would she tell him the truth? Would she lie to save herself? Or would she be so hurt at his distrust that she'd never speak to him again?  
  
"Yes," he thought to himself, "a rock and a very hard place."  
  
He took one more long drag from his cigarette and stared off into the distance.  
  
MANHATTAN  
  
Spot felt a little uneasy as he pushed open the door to Streetside Charley's Restaurant and walked inside. Lily had asked him to meet her there, but he was unsure of why exactly she had wanted to. What was especially strange was that she would pick a place in Manhattan for them to meet, when there were more than enough restaurants in Brooklyn that were closer and could have served the same purpose quite easily. He searched the room, and upon not finding her, he chose a booth in the corner and sat down to wait.  
  
He leaned forward, his chin resting on his right fist. He thought about what reason Lily could possibly have for all of this. Then an idea dawned on him, hitting him upside the head and then sinking into his stomach like a load of bricks. A low and whispered, "Fuck," escaped his mouth. Eva. It was Eva. Eva had found out about them and told Mantovanni. Mantovanni then probably had a little chat with Lily. Yes, that was it. He had a chat with her and had given her two options: she could stop seeing Spot and forget he had ever existed or she could continue on as she was doing and be forced out onto the streets. Lily was coming here to tell him goodbye! But she couldn't wait for their usual meeting time and she couldn't meet him in Brooklyn because it was too dangerous, too much of a chance of being seen! And now, because of that bitch Eva and that damn, damn coldhearted rat Mantovanni, Lily had to send Spot along his merry way.  
  
Spot's anger grew as his mind raced with more ideas of how things had happened. He gritted his teeth as he plotted his revenge against the bitch and thought about all the ways he could get back at Mantovanni. By the time Lily finally arrived, he was fuming, his mind racing, his jaw set, his fists clinched, and knuckles turning white.  
  
She had stopped just inside the door, searching the room. When her eyes met Spot's, she smiled a little half-smile. A sad, smile, Spot thought to himself, she's trying to be brave about the whole thing to make it easier on us. As she approached him, he was suddenly struck by an idea, a solution. Maybe she didn't have to leave him. She'd lose her job, that was certain, but what was she really losing anyway? The only thing that job had ever done for her was make give her a promiscuous reputation, as Scotty had claimed. They could leave. They could leave together and go somewhere new...yes, that was it. They would leave and start over, find new and better jobs and live happily ever after...  
  
When she sat down across from him, Spot didn't even give her time to greet him before he said, "Jo, I know what happened. I know why ya wanted to meet me heah."  
  
She looked very confused as she wrinkled her brow.. "You do?" she questioned, "but how?"  
  
"I ain't dumb, Jo," he said in a low and quite serious tone, "I'se smaht enough to figga dis one out."  
  
"You did..you, um, figured it out?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, but look, Jo, I been thinkin'," Spot reached across the table and took Lily's hand in his as an offer of comfort while he continued explaining his idea, "and it ain't hopeless. I t'ink dere's somethin' we can do about it. Now, I know what ya probably thinkin' but if ya just listen.."  
  
"Who told you?"  
  
"Wha? Nobody had tah tell me anythin' Jo. Like I said, I figgahed it out. I ain't stupid ya know. And besides, it was kinda obvious, I mean, ya wantin tah meet me here, and den dat new goil dat ya tol' me about an' all.."  
  
Spot was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress, a young girl with dark hair and bright eyes. "Hallo," she said in an accent that was most decidedly English, "what can I get for you today?"  
  
Spot looked at Lily, awaiting her answer. "Oh," Lily began, "I'll just have a cup of coffee, and um, dessert. You do have dessert, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. What would you like? We have pie, custard, cake.."  
  
"Cake. Chocolate cake," Lily answered, then turned her attention to Spot, "get whatever you want, I'm paying."  
  
Spot raised his right eyebrow and shot her a look of confusion. What was this, pity? Now she felt bad about everything, so she was buying him lunch to make up for it. He wasn't used to accepting pity or letting anyone pay for him, but he decided it would be best not to embarrass Lily in front of the nice waitress, so he simply did as she said and ordered what he wanted.  
  
When the waitress had left them, he confronted Lily. "Whaddaya tryin' to do, Jo?" he asked in a low voice.  
  
Lily couldn't help but laugh in her utter confusion. "Wait, Spot, before I answer that and before you go any further" she said, "why don't I just tell you my reason for wanting you here instead of having to go through this process where we speak cryptically and try to talk to each other without really talking, alright?"  
  
Spot shrugged his shoulders and said, "Dat's the best ideah I've heard all day. Why don't ya jis g'head and do dat." He leaned back in his seat and waited for her grand explanation, secretly bracing himself and expecting the worst.  
  
"Alright, are you ready?" Lily was now smiling widely. Spot nodded his head. She then pulled out a rolled piece of paper from under the table. In a quick motion, she unrolled the paper displayed it to Spot. "Ta da!" she said, smiling and eagerly awaiting his response.  
  
However, Lily's smile soon faded when Spot's face only revealed confusion and perhaps a bit of disappointment instead of the encouragement and happiness she was certain he would gladly bestow upon her. "What's dat?" Spot questioned when he finally spoke.  
  
"You can't tell?" Lily asked, disheartened. "It's me! I mean, of course it's me, you can surely see that. What I mean is that it's only me....it's the theatre's new publicity poster!"  
  
Spot raised his eyebrow. Lily rolled her eyes. "Can't you see? It's just me, just my name. Not me and the other girls. They're giving me my own act! My very own act! I'm headlining!"  
  
"Oh," Spot said in a flat voice, "dat's, um, nice, Jo."  
  
Lily's face fell for the second time. "You're not happy for me?" she asked in an injured voice, "I thought you would be. This is...this is a huge leap forward. Think of what it'll do for my career! It's the next step, you know? Maybe after this, I can get into a real play, and do something important." Her expression turned from hurt to wistful when she mentioned the words "a real play." It was her secret dream. Something she hadn't told anyone about until mentioning it to Spot. It was the very reason why she came to New York. Now that it was actually in sight and it seemed as though she had a true chance of reaching it, the one person in the world whom she hoped would be thrilled and offer endless support was acting aloof and disinterested.  
  
The waitress reappeared with the food before Lily had found the appropriate words to voice her disappointment in a way that wouldn't sound like childish whining. After she placed their respective plates in front of them and walked away, Spot immediately and silently focused all of his attention on eating. Lily poked at her once celebratory cake with her fork, trying to convince herself that nothing was wrong. When she finally decided that she would be happy for herself even if he couldn't be, she breathed a deep sigh, shrugged, and took a sizable bite of her dessert.  
  
~***~  
  
Later that night, while Lily slept peacefully, Spot remained awake. His bout of insomnia had yet to leave him, and he had lied awake for what seemed like eternity. The thoughts, the nagging, unrelenting thoughts had returned again, and the fact that, at the moment, Lily was by his side had no power to discourage them.  
  
He wanted to wake her, to wake her that moment and pour out his heart to her. He wanted to tell her what everyone around him had been saying about her and him and their relationship. He wanted to tell her that he hadn't peacefully slept in weeks and that their words still plagued his mind and pierced his heart even though he had tried his hardest to forget them. He wanted her to listen to his confession of desperation and then have her hold him and tell him that it was all lies, horrible lies that never had any truth. He wanted to hear her say that she belonged to him only, and that she had never once thought of another man in the time that they had been together.  
  
But he couldn't. He couldn't wake her and tell her all that he had been thinking. It would have hurt her too much, too deeply. She was sensitive, and he knew that. She took everything to heart, and hearing him question her character would certainly crush her. Even if she truly was a lying, cheating whore, he couldn't strike at her and wound her with accusations that he wasn't sure were entirely true.  
  
Thoroughly frustrated with his efforts to be caught in the warm blanket of sleep, he, as quietly and as gently as he could, removed Lily's arm from around him and rose to a sitting position. Standing up, he stretched and then walked over to the open window. Looking out onto the silvery-lit buildings of the city, he recalled the moonlit walk that he and Lily had taken in the first few days of their acquaintance. Thinking back on it and remembering how he felt so taken with her and so alive in her presence, he felt a painful twinge in his chest. He never would have thought he'd be here, unable to sleep because of the words and accusations of others constantly plaguing his mind. He never thought he'd doubt her or his feelings for her. He'd believed that this time it'd be different.  
  
And it was different. Earlier that day, when he had believed their love was in jeopardy, his resolve to be with her strengthened and consumed him again. He could think of nothing more than doing anything, absolutely anything to save them, to preserved the tie that bound them. And when the tragedy turned out to be simply a promotion for Lily, he was far less happy for her than he probably should have been. He could feel her disappointment when her face fell from the glowing smile it had once wore, but try as he may, he could not make himself behave any differently than he had.  
  
In contrast to the joy that Lily felt, Spot's mind could only produce worry and distress. His stomach had twisted into knots when he realized what the poster meant. More men, that's what it had meant. More men admirers, more gifts from men, more attention from men. All from men who had more money than he had, more power than he had, and more respectability than he had. And Lily Fox, his beloved Jo, had every reason in the world to say, "The hell with Spot Conlon!" and commit herself to one of these men. That is, if she hadn't already. But why shouldn't she? They could offer her things that he never could. They could give her a better life, a life that she'd always dreamed of. They fit into her plan.  
  
Her plan. Spot had laughed to himself when he'd first heard of it. He'd laughed at how she'd planned out her entire life to suit one goal. At first, it hadn't mattered to him. He expected their relationship to only last a short time, a few weeks, maybe a month. When it went further, and when he'd fallen in love with her, he'd practically given up on other girls, and he'd expected the same from her. He expected that she would give up on her plan and devote herself only to him. And for a while, he was sure she had. But now, he wasn't so sure.  
  
Turning around to look upon her, still quietly sleeping, his heart melted and broke at the same time. She was so beautiful, so thoroughly intoxicating and yet, easily so toxic at the same time. He had to do something. He couldn't continue to live his life this way - never sleeping, doing nothing except isolating himself from his boys, and sitting alone, thinking and smoking cigarette after cigarette. But what could he do? He couldn't tell Lily for fear of hurting her, and hell, he couldn't tell anyone else. He had a reputation to protect. He was Spot Conlon, and Spot Conlon did not stay awake every night pining away over some silly girl that was probably stabbing him the in the back and making a fool out of him on a regular basis.  
  
He pulled yet another cigarette and a match from the pocket of his shirt that he had thrown on the floor and lit the cigarette. He paced around the room slowly, trying to think of what to do or how to forget about his predicament. He wandered over to her dresser and ran his fingers lightly over the items strewn over its top. He picked up a bottle and sniffed it. It was perfume, the one she always wore. He'd always loved the way she smelled and the way his clothes held her fragrance long after he'd left her. As he inhaled, its sent filled his nostrils and almost made him forget there was anything wrong. Her earrings, her hairbrush, face powder, ribbons, one glove: he touched each one, caressing them gently as if they were her.  
  
He let his fingers wander down to the drawer pull and slowly yanked it open. Undergarments, all white, some with lace, some without. Silk stockings. Thumbing through the garments, he felt his hand fall over something hard hidden under one of them. His hand closed around it and he lifted it out of the drawer. Money. It was money. Bills upon bills folded neatly. It was her life savings, he'd guessed. "Good for you, Jo," he said softly, carefully placing the stash back in exactly the same place he had found it.  
  
"I wonder what else she's got in heah," he whispered, musing to himself. After a little digging, his hand once again found something hard. Hard and flat. He pulled out the object to discover a framed photograph. The people pictured looked to be a family, a well dressed, upper class family. There was a mother, a father, a little girl in a frilly dress, and a baby. The mother held the baby on her lap and smiled sweetly at it. The father stood tall and proud and though he was not smiling, his eyes held a bit of a twinkle. The young girl was quite the opposite. She stood solemnly, her lips turned downward and her dark eyes, brooding.  
  
Spot held the picture up to his face for closer inspection. He wondered who these people were. Where they Jo's family? And if so, which one was Jo? Was she the happy baby or the solemn little girl? As he pondered all of this, he heard a groggy voice behind him say, "What are you doing?"  
  
He turned around to face Lily. She was sitting up in the bed, her hair tousled and messy, her eyes barely open, still heavy from sleep. "What are you doing?" she repeated again. Spot put the picture behind his back and tried to subtly put it back into her drawer, hoping that her half-lucid state would provide a veil to cover his actions.  
  
"Don't bother," she said, "I can see what you're doing. What's that in your hands?" Spot stopped. He was caught and he knew better than to try to continue his charade.  
  
"Ya mean dis?" he asked holding up the picture.  
  
"Don't play dumb, Conlon," she said, annoyed at having being woken up and then being forced to play games, "of course I mean that." She pushed the blankets aside and got out of bed. "Give it to me," she said, reaching out her hand. He placed the photograph in her outstretched hand. Lily looked at the framed photograph and emitted a sigh of exasperation. "God, Spot," she said in a tone of annoyance, "where did you find this? Were you looking through my things? What were you hoping to find?"  
  
Spot scoffed. "I wasn't lookin' for nothin', Jo. Whaddaya take me for? I ain't no snoop. Christ..." he said defensively, trying to conceal his attempt to pretend as though he had done nothing wrong. He flopped down on the bed as though she had injured him.  
  
A moment of silence passed while Lily tried to get over her annoyance and Spot attempted to think of what to say to save himself. "So, um," he said after a while, "which one is you?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Lily asked, "Are you talking about this?" She gestured toward the photograph she was holding.  
  
"Yeah, in dah pictcha...Dat's ya family, right? So, are you dah baby or are ya dah unhappy little goil who looks like she got all her toys taken away?"  
  
Lily laughed at his description of her as a child. "I am actually the unhappy little girl."  
  
"Really?" Spot mused, "What did dey do to ya? Tell ya you could have any dessert afta suppa?"  
  
"No," Lily answered, rolling her eyes, "nothing like that. I suppose that I was just one of those shy little children that didn't really take to anyone."  
  
"And look at ya now.." Spot said under his breath.  
  
Lily wasn't sure what his comment meant, so she pretended like she hadn't heard it. She sat down next to him on the bed. "An' who's dis?" he asked, pointing to the baby.  
  
"That's Claudette, that's my sister" Lily answered. Spot could pick up a slight bit of wistfulness in her voice. "God, she's just a tiny little thing there, isn't she? I was four when she was born."  
  
"What happened to 'er? Is she still back in uh, South Carolina?" Spot asked.  
  
She sighed a long, deep sigh and closed her eyes. Without opening her eyes, she quietly murmured, "I'm going to have to tell you all of it aren't I?" She opened her eyes to see him looking at her, awaiting her next words. "I've never told anyone this. No one," she whispered.  
  
"My parents were French immigrants," she began, "our original surname was Auguste, but it was changed to August upon arriving here. My mother was pregnant when they made the long trip over, but I wasn't born until they'd been here three months. They settled in Charleston because my father had an aunt and uncle already residing there. I was born in Charleston on March 23, 1880. They named me Josephine, after my mother's mother, and, um, the empress, too, I believe. Josephine-Margot August - the very first natural born American citizen in our family," she paused to smile and laugh. "Anyway, four years later, Claudette was born, and for a while, everything was perfect. So very, very perfect."  
  
Lily looked at Spot and said, "Are you terribly bored yet?"  
  
"Nah," he answered, putting his arm around her, "go on. I mean, if ya want to."  
  
"Well anyway, over the next year or so, my mother developed some kind of condition. No one was sure what it was. Claudette's birth was very difficult, and I guess in her already weakened condition and the strain from taking care of a baby and a family, anything, no matter how small the sickness, would have had a massive effect on her. She went to doctor after doctor in South Carolina. She made trips to Boston, Hartford, everywhere. So many doctors, yet none of them thought her condition very serious, and if they did, they didn't know how to help her. After three years of watching her grow worse and worse, my father, the staunch believer in all things French, took her and the still very young Claudette back to France. I'm not quite sure if he'd considered the adverse effect the long boat journey would have on her though. Not wanting to interrupt my education at Charleston's finest girl's school, they sent me to live with my father's rich aunt.  
  
"Aunt Helaine. And her son - my uncle Maurice. Aunt Helaine was, well she was fine, I suppose. No, that's a lie. She was strict, terribly strict and nearly obsessed with the idea of fashioning me into the proper lady - someone to show off and to never embarrass the family name. But she loved her son. Oh how she loved her son, that wretched man! She believed anything and everything that he told her, though I knew and the entire town knew that he was quite the liar. After a year of living there, I received word that my mother had died, and that my father and sister would remain in Lyon. I was to stay Charleston with my Aunt Helaine and finish my education.  
  
I must say that I was not affected very much by my mother's death. I suppose it was due to my age - I was very young and did not understand death fully. As long as I was a good little girl, Aunt Helaine provided me with as many toys and pretty dresses as I liked. I lived a happily, comfortable, little life with my aunt. Uncle Maurice I did not care for. There was something about him that I did not trust. While I was young, he left me alone and, I could ignore him and pretend that he simply was not there. However, when I was fourteen and had begun to develop into something more womanly than childlike, his attitude toward me changed.  
  
I could feel his eyes on me at dinnertime. He watched me constantly and smiled eerie, private little smiles at me when he thought no one watching. Late one night, when I was sixteen, he came into my room. I woke to find him there standing over me. Suddenly, we both heard a loud noise. It must have scared my uncle, made him think someone was coming to find him out or something, because he quickly exited my room. Of course, my aunt saw nothing wrong. She was blissfully oblivious to her son's actions. Her love for him blinded her, and he did nothing in front of her to sway her affection. I lived like this for three years, constantly evading him. Doing anything to not be left alone in a room with him.  
  
And then, all of my efforts failed. Shortly after my seventeenth birthday I suppose my uncle simply got tired of waiting. He waited until Great Aunt Helaine made her routine visit to the Charleston Ladies' Bridge Society and then he......he was so much strong than me...I tried to stop him, but what could I have done?"  
  
She paused to look at Spot. His attention was focused on her. A soft, "Aw, Jo," escaped from his lips.  
  
"I told my Aunt, you know, I told her what her filthy son had done. I thought she would actually take my side for once, and see her son for what he truly was. But I was sadly mistaken. Not only did she not believe me, but she accused me of lying, of deliberately trying to tarnish her son's and our family's name. She even wrote to my father, explaining the situation, rallying her son's cause, and enlightening him on what a disappointment his daughter was.  
  
To my father, two things were important, honor and family. I was a disgrace to both. He believed my aunt, of course, since she was older and wiser and I was just a silly little girl dying for attention. I had caused him the utmost shame, and he wrote me, informing me of such, threatening to disown me and such things. Now, I loved my father deeply, and it hurt me in unspeakable ways that he was so disappointed in me, so very ashamed of me.  
  
From that point on, I simply could not bear to be in that house any longer, not with my aunt who criticized my every move and believed not a word that I said, not with my uncle sneering at me across the dinnertable. So, I packed my things, unashamedly stole some of my aunt's money and took the first train here. My naïve head filled with big aspirations of how I was going to be an enormous theatrical success. Of course, I ended up here. A poor little song and dance girl who has to flirt with the kind of men that I despise just to survive."  
  
Spot did not speak. How could he? He had no idea what to say. "Your muddah," he finally said softly, pointing to her in the photograph, "was beautiful."  
  
"She was," Lily said, smiling sadly, "Everything I can remember about her was beautiful and graceful...and warm. Her voice..the way that she walked...even her name - Marianne-Therese."  
  
"You look like her," Spot offered.  
  
Lily smiled and threw her arms around him, enveloping him in her embrace. Her sweet embrace. Wrapped in it, love and all of its finery fell down upon Spot again. He welcomed the blinding happiness that it brought, but his bliss lasted only seconds. For in the back of his mind, the voice repeated itself again. The gnawing feeling returned, creeping up on him until it overtook his mind and heart. The doubt eased into his mind and he held on to Lily more tightly, as if that simple action could make it go away. Sadly, it couldn't. He was left shaken and utterly overcome by fear. 


	8. Part VIII

Part VIII  
  
Lily pushed Spot away abruptly and quickly wiped the tears that had begun to fall from her eyes and face. A sudden feeling of utter embarrassment had attacked her. Spot was a bit startled at the abruptness of her withdrawal. "Oh, God, there I go being pathetic and overly emotional again. I'm sorry..I didn't mean to be so dramatic and woe is me...Ugh, I am such a mess!" She stood up and walked around the room, running her fingers through her hair and trying to shed the humiliation she had caused herself by outwardly being a basket case. She paused to yawn and stretch. "God, it's late isn't it?" She made her way back to the bed and Spot. "We should getting back to bed."  
  
"Um, actually Jo," Spot said, rising, "I think I'm just gonna, uh, go back to dah house and sleep dere tonight instead."  
  
A confused look came over her face, and she wrinkled her brow. She was amazed at his sudden transformation. One moment he was loving and gentle, tending to her and trying to comfort her, and now, in an instant, he had changed to cold and distant, indifferent and almost uncaring. Was it her? Had she done something wrong, said something wrong? Did her outward display of emotion turn him off and make him think she was nothing more than a whiny pathetic little girl? She wanted to object and question him, but she knew how Spot could be. He'd start off acting a little strangely, and then at any moment, he was liable to suddenly blow up, especially if the wrong thing were said to him. "But-but it's raining," she stuttered, "Are you sure you want to go out in that?"  
  
"Ah, what's a liddle watah?" he shrugged, as he put on his right shoe and then stood to pull his suspenders up. He placed his cap on his head and leaned over to kiss Lily's cheek, and her face fell as he did so. He was really leaving. He was actually going to climb out of the window and leave now, and there was nothing that she could do. She had just bared her soul to him, told him everything, and he was just going to leave her. She struggled to think of something subtle and suitable to say, something that would keep him there with her without him feeling as though she were begging him to stay.  
  
"And I won't be comin' round tomorrah eiddah. I got a few liddle things that need takin' care of," Spot said, as he walked to his open window. He turned around to look at Lily and smile goodbye. "Aw Jo," he said, noticing the upset look on her face, "now don't gimme dat look, not dat sad face."  
  
"I can't help it," she answered, still sulking, "it's the only face I've got."  
  
Spot laughed, a snorting, little laugh through his nose. He walked back over to her and used his index finger to tip up her chin. "Cheer up, sweetface," he said, "dah woild ain't cavin' in on ya." Lily cringed at the word "sweetface" and Spot smiled and exhaled a little snort-like laugh in response. With another slight smile, he'd turned and disappeared out of the window.  
  
Lily's lip curled in disgust. She hated when he called her "sweetface." He only did it when he'd wanted to get the best of her, and when he said it, he'd only use that patronizing tone. She grabbed for the nearest thing that she could reach, which happened to be a book, and flung it violently against the wall. "Damn you, Spot Conlon!" she said in anger, "damn you for making me pour my heart out to you and then leaving me directly after! Aargh. If I didn't like you so much, I'd swear I hate you." She paused. "And damn you for making me like you!"  
  
She crossed her arms, furrowed her brow, and glared at the book she'd thrown that was now resting on the floor, half open. As she continued to glare at the book, her expression softened. She stood up, went over to the book, and stooped down to pick it up. Returning it to its previous place, she flopped down on the bed and buried her face in her hands.  
  
"Why did you do that?" she asked herself, "Why? You didn't have to tell him anything! He didn't make you tell him anything! But no, you go and let your little sad, sob story come spilling out of your mouth and you cry and make yourself look like a fool! And then you wonder why he leaves! Damn you, Josephine! I hate you!"  
  
She could feel the hot tears stinging her eyes again, and she angrily wiped them away. "No!" she said, "Not that again! Get ahold of yourself!" Two years ago, she'd spent nearly every waking moment sobbing until her chest ached and her eyes were dry. After that she'd swore she'd never cry again, and she'd kept her promise faithfully. Now was not the time to break it. "God, you don't have any reason to cry! Now, just calm down. Breathe. There is nothing wrong. He just wanted to go back to the house. There's nothing odd about that. That's no reason to get upset. Everything is fine. Tomorrow will be better. You just need to go to sleep until tomorrow. That's right, go to sleep."  
  
Knowing quite well that there was no way that she could possibly fall asleep immediately if she simply laid in bed and shut her eyes, she walked over to her desk to grab her current favourite book, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, so that she might re-read it. She crawled into bed and pulled the covers up around her. After lighting the lamp on her bedside table, she opened the book and began to read. "On an evening in the latter part of May a middle-aged man was walking homeward from Shaston to the village of Marlott, in the adjoining Vale of Blakemore or Blackmoor..." She'd barely made it past the opening lines before she stopped reading and scowled. No, Tess was not doing its job. Though she'd loved it the last three times she had read it, tonight it didn't feel right.  
  
Turning in the direction of the lamp, she spotted a book on her bedside table. The spine read The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was the book she'd thrown earlier. "Nathaniel," she said to herself and laughed. Nathaniel - Spot's name. How fitting. She'd been meaning to read it for some time, but hadn't found the desire to do so. Perhaps now was the perfect time to begin it. Sighing and shrugging, she picked up the book. Opening it, and thumbing past the first few pages, she reached the opening lines of the novel: "A throng of bearded men, in sad-colored garments and gray, steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes."  
  
~***~ "Spot! Hey Spot! Wait up!"  
  
Spot stopped in his tracks and looked behind him to see Jack running up to him.  
  
"Hey, s'mattah? You deaf or somethin'? I been hollerin' at ya for the last two blocks!" Jack said, out of breath.  
  
Spot shrugged and flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "Sorry Cowboy. I must notta hoid ya," he answered with an air of indifference.  
  
"Whattaya doin' round dese parts anyway?" Jack asked.  
  
"I dunno. Walkin,' I guess." In truth, Spot had just been walking. He'd been walking since eleven that morning. After he'd sold his last of 50 papers, he'd started without knowing where exactly he intended to go or for how long. He had just walked and walked and somehow, he'd ended up in Manhattan.  
  
"Hey, ya hungry?" Jack asked.  
  
"Nah," he replied. "Sides, I ain't got hardly any money anyway. Been blowin' nearly every last penny on dese damn things." He gestured toward the cigarette in his right hand. It'd been days since he'd last left Lily. In those days, he'd hardly done anything except sell his papers, eat a few bites every now and then, and smoke.  
  
Spot offered the cigarette to Jack. Jack accepted it and took a drag. Handing it back to Spot, "Hey, what's wrong wit you dese days, Spot?"  
  
"Whattaya mean?"  
  
"Well," Jack began, "I'se seen you tree times in dah last week, and ev'ry time all you do is mope. Mope and smoke and sit dere wit dat sour look on ya face. And den, dere's dat one liddle incident dat I don't particu'ly like tah tawk about, but, uh, a few weeks ago ya practically tried tah kill me fuh no good reason. Yah remembah dat one, Spot? Huh? An' so anyways, I was just wonderin' if dere was anytin' you'd like to, I dunno, get off ya chest, maybe."  
  
Spot stared at Jack for a moment before a short and direct, "Nah" came from his lips.  
  
It's that girl, thought Jack. It had to be. Since he'd become entangled with her, Spot hadn't been the same. He wasn't the same, old fun loving Spot he was used to: the Spot that was always up for a game of poker or getting drunk with the boys, the Spot that could always win the prettiest girl in the room and be done with her in one week, then go back to looking the next. True, he did have quite a temper and could sulk and fume better than anyone Jack knew, but these last few weeks he'd never seen Spot so reclusive, so quiet and private, and perhaps so blatantly unhappy.  
  
Jack could recognize the look in Spot's eyes. It was a familiar one. Jack had seen it in his own eyes after Sarah's betrayal two months ago. It was the mark of hurt and confusion, masked by an air of indifference. Yes, it had to be that girl.  
  
"It's dat goil, ain't it?" Jack's attempt to hold his tongue failed as the words flew past his lips before he had realized what he'd done.  
  
Spot turned around to face him. He raised his right eyebrow and stared at Jack. Jack braced himself for an explosion of Spot's temper or something of the sort. Instead Spot laughed. "Yeah, maybe," he said. Jack faked a small laugh, though he couldn't manage to see the humor.  
  
"Hey Jacky-boy," Spot said. He was smiling - it was a devilish grin that was familiar to Jack and he was glad to see it. Spot finished his sentence, "You wanna go back to Brooklyn and see a liddle show? There's one I been meanin' to check out."  
  
"Shoah, Spot," Jack replied, smiling genuinely this time, "Shoah."  
  
~***~ "Lil, you almost ready? It's time to go." Annabel stood in the doorway, fully dressed and ready as she waited for Lily to join her and the rest of the girls.  
  
"Almost," Lily replied. She leaned over the dressing table and took one last look in the mirror as she pushed a curl back off of her forehead and rubbed off a bit of lipstick that had strayed outside of the lines. Examining herself once more in the mirror, she wrinkled her nose in displeasure and sighed. "Oh, I give up," she said and walked swiftly out of the door.  
  
By the time she'd reached the stage, she could hear the announcer's voice begin to boom. She quickly climbed up the stairs and joined the other girls, taking her place at the back of the line. Eva still wasn't nearly up to taking Lily's place, so she still did a few numbers with the rest of the girls and performed her solo act directly after. With the rustle of skirts and the clatter of high-heeled shoes, the girls shimmied out onto the stage and began their first number.  
  
Lily breezed through the numbers she performed with the rest of the girls. They were old and familiar. She was comfortable with them, so they came easily to her. When it had reached the time for her solo performance, she could feel her stomach tying herself in knots as the nervousness set in. She'd been performing alone for only a week, and she was still vastly frightened that she would hit a wrong note, forget the words to the song, or stumble without the other girls there to mask her error. She wrung her hands as she waited backstage during the break in between performances. Mentally, she was rehearsing the words to her song, a new song that she'd never performed.  
  
Faye came up behind her. "Are you ready?" she asked.  
  
"Oh Faye, don't make me do it! I can't go out there!" Lily pleaded with her best friend.  
  
"You can and you will!" Faye responded, "Oh, come on. It's not that bad. You've done it five times already-"  
  
"Six," Lily interrupted.  
  
"Alright, six. You've done it six times already and each time it's gone beautifully."  
  
"So far," retorted Lily, "But Faye, what if this time I forget the words..or, or I trip or something..or what if they boo me and then the entire audience climbs up onstage and riots!"  
  
"Then you just go with it. Whatever happens, smile and keep going," Faye said reassuringly, "and just for the record, I highly doubt that the audience will climb onstage or riot, so you can forget about that."  
  
The band had started up again, signaling that the time for Lily to go back onstage had come. The announcer's voice started her introduction. Faye smiled at her and said, "Go get 'em."  
  
Lily plastered a fake smile on her face and tried to convince herself that she wasn't going to vomit as she sauntered out onto the stage. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She had done this six times already, as Faye had reminded her - six times. Yet she'd never felt this panicky before any of the other performances. Not even before her very first had such a feeling of nervousness and dread filled her. She paused in the middle of the stage as she waited for the piano's cue. "Calm down," she told herself, "just keep breathing. You will be fine!"  
  
She heard three distinct notes that signaled the slow intro to her song and opened her mouth to sing,  
"I want a man to love me  
Oh, someone to hold me  
Softly, sweetly, gently, tenderly  
Someone who'll care of me  
Never leave me and be strong  
When everything's gone wrong."  
  
As she glanced up, her eyes wandered to the right balcony, where a familiar set of stone blue eyes met hers. Spot. Her Spot. He was there. He'd been gone for nearly a week and a half, but her was there now, watching her. Her heart jumped and the knots in her stomach turned to the flutter of butterflies. Her smiled widened as she continued to sing, now more confidently,  
  
"Oh, I want a man to kiss me  
How I need a man to miss me  
All the day through  
But let me say, in this way  
That I prefer a man who lives  
to give expensive jewels."  
  
The music quickened, and Lily began to feel more comfortable. Everything was going along swimmingly. She just had to keep going.  
  
"Oh I want a man to love me  
A man with lots of money.."  
  
Spot watched her as she sang. Jack was sitting beside him, smiling, tapping his foot, and clearly enjoying himself, but Spot hardly noticed him. She was beautiful. Yes, that was undeniably obvious. He felt riveted to her, as though he couldn't take his eyes away from her for one second. Watching her down there, shining and shimmering, he'd felt as though he'd begun to fall in love with her again, as though nothing could possibly go wrong with a girl like that. No man could want for anything more with a girl like Lily on his arm, right? His eyes still following her every move, he'd forgotten that he'd ever had any doubt or any inkling of a problem. Almost.  
  
As Lily stopped singing for the instrumental break in her song, she noticed something move out of the corner of her left eye. As she turned to investigate the motion, she saw a neatly dressed man, probably a student at the university, climbing onto the stage. Her panicky feeling immediately returned and intensified. "Oh, God!" she thought, "They're rioting!"  
  
The man must have not saw the fear in her eyes, for he walked right up to her, bowed, and offered her his hand. Lily didn't know what to do. Faye's words immediately came to mind. "Whatever happens, smile and keep going," she had said. "Alright Faye," Lily thought, "I'll smile and keep going." She smiled and took the young man's hand. He took it and began to dance with her onstage.  
  
A few other men, following the first's lead, suddenly climbed on the stage and began to take turns dancing with Lily. Lily laughed as they approached her one by one, taking each's hand and letting them lead her around the stage. The crowd cheered and applauded as they became part of the act themselves. The band took a cue from the audience's delight and extended the originally short instrumental break. "What the- " Spot exclaimed from high in his balcony seat as he learned over the railing to observe the swarm of men now dancing with his girl. He was about to laugh, but the humor faded from the situation when Spot saw one of the men lean over and kiss Lily on the lips. She gently pushed him away and wagged her finger to scold the bold youth, but it was too late. The audience stood up to cheer and clap wildly at the man's gall and bravery, but Spot could not do so. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, and his face fell into an utterly disgusted scowl. He opened his frowning mouth to let a single, whispered, "Bitch," fall from them before he abruptly stood up from his chair, knocking it over in the process, and left.  
  
"Hey, Spot, where ya-" Jack began, as he watched his friend leave. For a moment he considered following him, but shrugged off the idea and thought, "Nah, Spot can take care of himself." He returned his attention to the stage as he laughed and watched the spectacle that Lily's act had become.  
  
She had stopped dancing and the audience had quieted as the band's music softened for the last part of the song. Lily smiled coyly and she batted her eyes as she sang to one of the men on the stage,  
"Oh I believe that love is grand  
Especially with the right man  
But oh, it's so much better you see  
When he's. got.. money."  
  
She laughed as she finished, and watched the audience get to their feet as the theatre was enveloped with cries and cheers. Two of the men on stage grabbed her and hoisted her up. She waved to the audience enthusiastically. As she brought her eyes to the balcony where Spot had sat and saw only Jack, her smile faded. Where had he gone? She was able to convince herself that he would return momentarily, but as the audience died down and she began her next number, he still had not returned.  
  
After her act was over, her curtseys taken and she was just about to leave the stage, she took one more glance into the right balcony. Spot was still absent. She was able to hold her disappointment and confusion in for the time it took to walk offstage, but once backstage, her face fell.  
  
~***~  
  
Lily sat at her dressing table, unpinning her hair. All of the other girls had finished undressing and left. Lily sat alone in the empty room, staring at herself in the mirror. She began to remove her make-up, the lipstick first, with a white handkerchief.  
  
She'd wiped away half when the image of Spot's empty chair flashed before her eyes again. "It's over," a voice inside of her head told her. "No," she said outloud, but the voice had responded with a "Yes" before she could finish her utterance. It wasn't what she wanted to her or believe, but somehow she couldn't escape the eerie feeling that it was true. She buried her face in her hands. She suddenly felt her skin prickle, and the small hairs on the back of her neck stood up. As, she started to look up to find out why, she felt a strong hand come to rest on her shoulder. Her head shot up. In the mirror, standing behind her was a man with a face that was not familiar.  
  
Looking closer, she recognized him as one of the men who had been onstage with her earlier. She smiled, "You know that you're not supposed to be back here."  
  
"Yes," he said, smiling. It was a smile that showed his teeth, and something in it suddenly made Lily very afraid.  
  
She tried to smile back at him. "Well, I think it's best that you go now, before someone finds you here. So, leave, um, please." She stumbled over her words, trying her hardest to remain calm and composed.  
  
His hand began to move from her shoulder. It slid to her neck and then caressed her face as she turned her head to face him. "No need to be coy anymore," he said in a frighteningly soft voice, "I saw the way you were looking at me. It's obvious - the way that you feel about me. I can see it in your eyes."  
  
Lily lowered her eyes. "No, sir," her voice wavered as she spoke, "I'm sorry, but I believe you were mistaken." She slowly moved her hands to her thigh and felt for the knife that she kept there. Damn. It was not there. Doing her best not to become frantic, she moved her right hand behind her to feel around the dresser for the weapon as she continued trying to ward off the man vocally. "And if there was anything about my nature or my actions that caused you to believe something that is not true, then I am sorry. For that I feel I must apologize." Where was that damn knife?!?  
  
His hand grasped her arm and pulled her up to standing. The hold he had on her was tight and Lily could feel the bruise that must have been forming. Now both of her hands searched the dresser for anything sharp or hard, anything that she could stab or bludgeon him with, anything that would injure him long enough for her to save herself. "Um, um, sir," she stuttered again, this time her panic beginning to show, "I am going to ask you again to leave. Please sir, leave. Now." She was pleading with him, her desperation evident in her eyes.  
  
He laughed. "No," he said, "I don't think so."  
  
Lily began to breathe heavily, the only thought on her mind now was to free herself - to free herself and run. She gathered up all of her strength and courage and with a violent twist of her torso, she managed to wrench herself free of his grasp. She began to run for the door, but his strong hands caught her. They grabbed her more tightly and pulled her back.  
  
Her attacker slammed her against the wall, her head striking it with a dull thud. "Come on now," he said, "don't make me beg. Just be a good little girl and everything will be fine."  
  
~***~  
  
Spot quickly walked a straight path down the sidewalk, noticing nothing and no one, bumping into others and pushing past them. He was furious, utterly enraged, and determined. His mind was made up now. It was set and nothing would deter him. He fumed at the thought of the time and worry that he'd wasted on such a back-stabbing whore.  
  
~***~  
  
Lily squirmed and flailed with all of her might. She screamed for help, but he covered her mouth with her hand, smothering her cries. Her hands grabbed at the man, hitting him, pulling at his flesh. Her fists beat at his breast and her fingernails tore into him as she tried anything and everything to stop his advancements. "Not again," she thought, "This can't be happening again!"  
  
Her assailant pulled at her dress, ripping it at the breast. He pinned her to the wall with his body as he began to undo his pants. Lily still fought him, though she was utterly exhausted and her head and body were consumed with pain. As she continued to assault him with her fists, tears began to fall from her eyes. She closed them, thinking that if she must succumb to this, then she would certainly not watch it happen to her.  
  
The man had successfully undone his pants and was not reaching under Lily's dress and pawing at her undergarments when she heard a "Click." Lily opened her eyes and the man turned around to find a handgun's barrel placed on his temple. It was Mantovanni. "Excuse me, Sir," he said calmly, but sternly, "I fear I must request that you leave right this moment and never frequent this establishment again. For if you do, you shall find yourself in the position that you are in now, and next time, I will not be so kind."  
  
Lily closed her eyes and slid down the wall as her attacker released her and slinked out of the room.  
  
~***~  
  
Lily waited up for Spot that night. She wasn't certain if he would come, but hope wouldn't let her give up on him. She needed him. She needed him to come and to be as loving and caring as he could be. She needed to tell him what had happened to her, and she needed him to become enraged and swear that he would have all of Brooklyn after that man and that neither he nor any of them would sleep until the assailant was dead. Yes, she needed her Spot.  
  
She'd waited up for hours and still, no Spot. She rested her arms on the footboard of her bed and then laid her head in her arms. Within moments, she'd fallen asleep.  
  
She was immediately awakened by the clatter of haphazard footsteps on the fire escape. Through her sleep-laden eyes, she could see Spot climb through her window.  
  
"What time is it?" she mumbled.  
  
"I dunno," he answered, shrugging, "late."  
  
As soon as she sat up, the smell of alcohol and smoke hit her nostrils. "Do you want to sit down?" she asked him, careful to choose the correct words.  
  
"Nah," he said leaning against the wall.  
  
Alright, Lily thought to herself, so he's in one of his moods. She decided then that to run into his arms and pour our her heart to him about what had happened to her earlier would probably not be the best thing to do at that time.  
  
Spot took note of her carefulness. "She's walkin on eggshells," he thought to himself, "she knows that I know. If she wasn't guilty, she'd be a little bit more glad to see me. Hmph. Look at her still sittin' there. Why doesn't she just come over here and beg for my forgivness or somethin'?"  
  
"So, Spot," she said softly and hesitantly, "I noticed that you were at the theatre today. Why did you leave so suddenly?"  
  
"I wanted tah," Spot returned, "You got a problem wit dat or somethin'?"  
  
"No, I was simply wondering," Lily said defensively. Her desire to run into his arms had faded. She thought for a moment. She knew what she wanted to say, but did she dare? Yes, perhaps she did. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to speak to me a little more nicely, Spot."  
  
"Hey, I can do whatevah I want tah do. I ain't gotta do nothing if I doan wanna," he retorted.  
  
"God, you're drunk," Lily said, shaking her head in disgust.  
  
"Well I gotta do somethin' besides just sit around. An' anyway you think I like dis? Do ya? You think I like waitin' around for you all dah time for you to get done with doing who knows what kinda shit behind me back? Do you know what a fool dat makes me look like? Do you know how stupid dey think I am?"  
  
"Why do you care what they think? Damn, Spot. All you ever care about is your pride! Your damn reputation! You don't care about me!"  
  
"Now, hold on a minute dere sweetface..."  
  
But Lily didn't hold on. She became even more inflamed by Spot's use of the word "sweetface" the patronizing "sweetface." Nothing could stop her now and she lit into him without mercy. "And God forbid you lose your status. God forbid you're not the king of Brooklyn and the rest of the world for that matter! You're the infamous fucking Spot Conlon and that's all that matters to you!"  
  
"Oh yeah? And who da fuck do ya think you are? Huh? Miss Lily Fox! Ya think you're betta dan me? You think yer betta than any o' us, Jo? Jis cause you was some liddle rich goil who had one liddle bad ting happen to 'er? Lemme jus tell ya then, lemme let ya know that dat ain't nothin' special round heah. Dere's a lot of us who ain't got no family an' ain't got nothin' and we'se a lot woise off dan you. You wit you're prissy little job where ya prance around in your pretty little dress and get paid to let old men put dere doity hands all ovah ya!"  
  
"Shut up, Spot! Shut up!" Spot's comments struck her deeply and re-opened the wound that she had suffered earlier that day.  
  
"What? Did I hit a noive Jo? Did I? Was dere some truth in what I said dat you doan wanna admit?" he taunted.  
  
"How dare you? How dare you talk to me like this?!? You've got no right.."  
  
"Oh, I got every right. See, you'se seemed to forget something. You forgot dat you'se my goil, Jo. Mine! Dat means I can talk to youse howevah I want!"  
  
"God, Spot, you don't have any concept of reality. You just don't get it! You've got everything mixed up in that twisted little head of yours. You can't fucking own people, Spot. People aren't property, damn it! You don't own me!"  
  
Spot suddenly became quiet, momentarily at a loss for words. He lowered his hand to his side. Then a little sneer appeared over his face. In a low, spiteful voice intended to stab through Lily's heart, he snarled through his teeth, very slowly and very directly, "Yeah, dat's right. Hey, maybe ya right, Jo. I don't own you. Everyone owns you. You're just a whore."  
  
At that comment, Lily became enraged. She flew at him, the palm of her hand striking his face. Spot held his stinging jaw for a moment, surprise at her boldness. Then, in retaliation, he lifted his hand, poised as if to strike her as she had done him, but harder and with more violence.  
  
"Hit me, I dare you!" Lily uttered in an injured, but still threatening voice, "Hit me!"  
  
He lowered his hand, his jaw clinched and his eyes burning blue-white with rage. Curling his lip, he turned on his heel and headed for the window.  
  
"You just scared!" Lily called after him as he climbed out of the window, "God, Spot! You're so fucking afraid that you can't see anything! But what do you know anyway? You don't know anything. You're just a fucking kid!"  
  
He was gone. Perhaps he was gone forever. He would never again climb through that window, and Lily knew it. She stood staring at it, as if in disbelief, for a few moments before she threw herself onto her bed. Curling into a ball, she began to cry. She cried deep sobs that resounded through her and shook her entire body. "It's over," the voice told her yet again, "Over."  
  
~***~  
  
Lily was stubborn, though, and though she knew that the voice inside of her head was probably right, she'd refused to believe it. From birth, she'd been giving the gift of eternal hope, and it was this hope that she clung to night after night, staying awake for hours, waiting and hoping that maybe, just maybe Spot would come back.  
  
While she sat up, endless waiting, she had a multitude of time to do nothing but think - to replay the events of the last month through her mind, to analyze, to rationalize. And as time took its toll on her, her feelings toward Spot and the horrible argument that had taken place began to change. Perhaps it really wasn't as horrid as she was making it out to be. The words that were spoken that night were hard and meant to hurt, yes, but everyone gets angry from time to time. Spot was intoxicated could he have meant what he was saying, or even known that he was verbally assaulting her? Did he remember that he had done it the next day? And maybe Spot was not entirely to blame. She had attacked him also, turned on him, blamed him, and even struck him. Perhaps she was faulting Spot too greatly, and instead, she should have been blaming herself.  
  
On the sixth night of keeping vigilance for Spot, Lily had decided that she had gained her fill of sitting and waiting for hours on end. Enough was enough. She'd come to a decision: how could she expect anything to get done if she simply sat and waited for things to happen. She'd have to take matters into her own hand. She'd have to see Spot. She felt that she owed him an apology, if nothing else, and she hoped that somehow, her apology could start a chain of events that would lead to the mending of the bonds they'd severed.  
  
As she was putting on her coat and making ready to leave, Faye appeared at her doorway. "Oh, no," she said, knowing exactly what Lily was intending to do, "please tell me that you're not about to do what I think you're about to do."  
  
"I can't do that Faye," Lily responded.  
  
"Lily, dear, I really don't think that this is the best idea," Faye warned, "You know what could happen, don't you? Are you certain that you want to do this?"  
  
Lily laughed. "No, Faye, I'm not, actually. But I can't just sit here night after night and not know, can I?" She buttoned the last button on her coat and walked past Faye and out of the door.  
  
"Lil," Faye called out after her, "I know that you're hoping for the best. No. I know that you're expecting the best. But please, do not let your world come to an end if things do not turn out that way." Lily paused, considering Faye's warning, but continued on her way.  
  
As she walked to the Lodging House, she rehearsed the words she would say to Spot again and again in her mind. Nothing sounded right. Nothing sounded proper or particularly convincing. When she arrived at the door of the House, she still had no idea what she would say to him. Taking a deep breath, she decided she would have to just say whatever came to mind, and hope that it came out right. She pushed open the door and went inside.  
  
As she entered the dimly lit room, she observed several boys seated on and around the desk. They're eyes widened as they recognized who she was, but Lily did not let their surprised looks deter her. Nor did she have to ask for directions this time. Her feet knew the way as they took her up the creaky staircase.  
  
When she reached the top, she veered right, in the direction of Spot's room. She could see a light coming from under the door, so she knew that he was inside. The door was opened to a crack, and as Lily drew nearer she could hear voices inside. As she got closer, she recognized one voice - Spot's, but the other she'd never heard before. It was a female voice. Lily's heart sank into her stomach.  
  
She didn't want to go on, she didn't want to find out who was inside, but her curiosity got the better of her. She walked to the door, trembling, her heart pounding in her chest and looked though the crack. Inside she could see Spot, wearing nothing but his long underwear bottoms, his shirt thrown somewhere, and his pants discarded at his feet. He was smiling at a girl with long red curls, who continued to chatter and giggle. She, like him, was wearing only her underwear. Lily swallowed hard as she watched the girl sit on Spot's lap as Spot took her in his arms and kissed her. With the kiss, Spot had broken her heart into a million pieces. She'd had enough. She couldn't bear to watch anymore.  
  
Lily's hand went to her mouth, and she slowly backed away from the door. Not watching where she was going, her hip collided with the stair handrail with a loud thud. The noise startled her and she jump in shock, her hip bruised and aching. "What the hell?" She heard spot's voice say from inside the room. Determined to not let him see her there, she turned on her heel and ran down the stairs as fast as her legs could possibly carry her.  
  
Spot came out of his room to investigate the noise just in time to see Lily reach the bottom of the stairs. "Jo?" he questioned, "Jo! Wait! Stop!" But Lily did not stop, nor did she even turn around. She ran out of the door onto the street. Spot ran down after her, trying to catch up with her. He'd reached the door just in time to see that she was a good ways down the street, her pace not slowing. "Jo!" he called out once more, and then gave up. He stood at the door and watched her, wondering why the hell he'd done what he done. How much it must have hurt her to see him there with that girl. God, what had he done? 


	9. Part IX

Part IX  
  
After what seemed like miles and miles, Lily finally stopped running. Her feet ached and her chest throbbed as she doubled over to gasp for air. Her deep breaths not able to take in enough oxygen quickly enough, she began to cough and choke. Her deep coughs shook her small body, causing the pain in her chest to increase. As she stood still bent over, tears stung her eyes, and she began to cry for the pain in her body and the pain in her heart. She put her hand to her mouth as though that simple action could cease her crying, could smother and silence it. When she was finally strong enough to pick herself up and continue walking, her sobs had been reduced to quiet whimpering as she allowed the hot tears to cascade over her face.  
  
She looked a fright. Her hair was disheveled; her skirt and shoes soaked from running through puddles, her face red and tear streaked. But she did not care. Her pace quickened as she moved through the streets, seeing nothing and no one as she continued on her path. "What is it that you want, God?" she asked silently, "What do You want? Have I done something to deserve this? Have I offended You somehow, in some terrible way that You feel that I must be punished for?" It was a prayer, though she hadn't prayed in years. She hadn't prayed since that moment when her world crashed down around her and she cursed God for forsaking her. But now, in her dire desperation, she felt as though she had no one else to turn to.  
  
"I don't understand, God," she continued, "I'm sorry, but I don't. Are you repaying me for denying your existence? Since I first told You that I did not believe in You, have You abandoned me? Perhaps I deserved to be abandoned. But I was angry, God. I'm still angry. But I'm also very weary. I'm so sick and tired of, of everything..and I haven't the strength to fight You any longer. I haven't the strength or the will to deny you. You've taken everything I've ever loved from me, God. First my mother, then my father's love, and now...and now Spot. And I can't bear it. I know it is weak of me, but I give up. God, You must help me. I can't do this alone anymore. Help me please. I'll do anything you want. Anything! Please just help me!"  
  
"Oh." It was the voice inside her head. It had returned and was speaking to her again. "So now you believe in me?" She stopped suddenly. The maddening pace of her step had immediately come to an abrupt halt. "Isn't it convenient," it continued, "that you have finally come to me when you have fallen into a horrible mess and are in need of a way out?"  
  
~***~  
  
"Yes, my child?" the priest said softly through the grate of the confessional.  
  
"Forgive me, Father......for I have sinned," Lily slowly spoke in response. Her eyes were closed and her head bowed. She remembered coming to the church every Tuesday with Great Aunt Helaine and being forced to confess. She remembered how the church smelled of the smoky incense and how it was always dimly lit. She remembered its silence, and how she would be accused of sinning if she dared to utter a single word inside of its holy halls. How she'd hated it! She hated the church and she especially hated Confession. She was afraid of going into the dark box that was the confessional and being forced to talk to the priest that frightened her with his low, harsh whispering that seemed to condemn her with every word. But she was an August! And Augusts were good Catholics who cared about their mortal souls and their family name, so they went dutifully and happily to confession every Tuesday and to service every Sunday morning.  
  
"How long has it been since your last confession?" the priest asked.  
  
Lily paused, her mouth poised, open and ready to answer, but the words would not come. Once again, as so many years before, the fear welled up within her. She dreaded answering him. She was ashamed of her response, so ashamed that she did not want to utter the words. It wasn't true unless she spoke it. One more deep breath. How could she delay the inevitable? How long would it be before he asked her again? "Three years," she finally uttered and waited in silence to for condemnation.  
  
~***~  
  
Lily had just come out of the church. As she crossed its threshold, she felt relief wash over her like a cool and comforting breeze. It had not gone as she had expected. For once, she had not left the holy structure with feelings of guilt and remorse. Instead, she felt as though an enormous burden had been lifted off of her shoulders. She stood on the grand porch of St. Augustine's, pulling on her gloves and fussing with them in an effort to straighten them. As she was finally getting them fastened, she heard a male voice call out to her.  
  
"Why Ms. Fox! Fancy seeing you here! I did not know that you were religious."  
  
She looked up and found herself staring into the smiling blue eyes of Henry Brannick.  
  
She smiled back slightly as she murmured, "Neither did I," under her breath. "Why, Mr. Brannick, so nice to see you again," Lily said more brightly, descending the steps of the church to stand beside him.  
  
"I believe that the pleasure is mine," he replied, still smiling. "May I ask where you're headed?"  
  
"Just back to the theatre, I suppose."  
  
"Well, what a delightful surprise! I, too, am going that way. Will you allow me the pleasure of escorting you?" Henry smiled again and raised his arm, offering it to her.  
  
Lily wanted to say no. She wanted to decline his offer and tell him that she was perfectly able to make it back alone, but something in the way that he continued to smile at her bade her to accept. "That would," she said, pausing, "that would be lovely. Thank you." She took his outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her back in the direction of the theatre.  
  
They walked along in silence for a piece until the discomfort of walking in silence provoked Lily to speak. "I'm sorry that I'm not saying much," she said, "but I fear I don't know what to speak about." She laughed nervously.  
  
"It's quite alright," Henry offered, "We've only met once, and only a few words were exchanged."  
  
"Yes, that's true," Lily returned, "And I also fear that I don't remember much of that night. And for that, again I must apologize."  
  
Henry laughed, "I cannot blame you for forgetting. Besides, had you not forgotten anything of the night, all you would have remembered of me would be my mother's quick and brief introduction of me and then her rambling on and on about Eddie and Tom." He slipped into a falsetto voice and began to speak dramatically, "Ah, yes, here is my oldest son, Edward.. Edward Brannick III, the pride and joy of our family. He's a lawyer, don't you know? And quite a successful one at that! Oh, and here is Tom! Dear, sweet Tom! He's my youngest, and my favourite, at that! Did I mention that he is at Harvard? Yes, he's at Harvard, studying finance. He's going to be terribly, terribly rich! And oh, yes, I almost forgot - this is Henry. But as I was saying, Tom is doing wonderfully well at Harvard.."  
  
Lily laughed at Henry's impression of his mother. "Don't laugh!" Henry said, laughing along with her, "It's true! You know it's true!'  
  
"Oh, it can't be that bad!" Lily reasoned through her laughter, "You're lying to me. It can't be that bad!"  
  
"Oh, but it can! And it is!" Henry returned. "All my mother knows about me, and cares to know is that I draw pictures for buildings. I've tried to reason with her. 'Mother, it's called Architecture. Architecture!' I've told her a thousand times, yet when she speaks of me to anyone, it's always, 'Well, Henry's been making more pictures of houses..' The entire situation is completely impossible. She's completely impossible! I've nearly given up and stopped trying entirely."  
  
"So you're an architect?" Lily asked. Henry nodded. "Good, now I know something about you and can attempt a decent conversation..well, Mr. Brannick-"  
  
Henry scoffed and interrupted her, "Oh, it's Henry, please. Mr. Brannick is my father. And Edward, maybe. He's certainly stuffy enough."  
  
"Alright," Lily replied with a quiet laugh. "Henry," she said more decidedly, "What sort of buildings do you make pictures of?"  
  
Henry chuckled in response to Lily's comment. "I like that. What buildings have I made pictures of.Ha!..Well, it's houses mostly. I'm just starting out, so I've accomplished nothing big yet. Not like Martin Lovell, my chum from university. The ol' boy's as young as I am, but he's so brilliant, so bloody brillaint that's he's had several big commissions already. In fact, he's got a building going up in Midtown right now. Think of it: he's erecting huge structures and being completely productive, while I wander the streets and unsuccessfully attempt to make witty conversation with beautiful ladies. I've accomplished nothing! Maybe Mother is right...if only I could be more like Eddie.."  
  
"Well, perhaps that will be you someday, if you give it time," Lily reassured him.  
  
"Yes, perhaps," he replied, "but frankly, I am absolutely sick of talking about myself. What I would like to talk about is you, actually."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, there's really nothing to talk about," Lily said, suddenly becoming shy.  
  
"Well, there certainly must be something," Henry said, trying to sound encouraging, "The world is wide and you are in it, so surely there must be something!"  
  
"What would you like to know?"  
  
"Oh, nothing much - just something vastly interesting!"  
  
Lily wrinkled her brow at his comment, causing him to quickly retract his words. "No, no! I'm merely joking! Do tell me whatever you want! But know that in my mind, if it comes from your lips, it cannot help but be vastly interesting."  
  
She rolled her eyes in mock frustration and sighed. "Flattery." As she uttered the word, they came upon their destination. "Well, here we are," Lily said nervously, releasing her hold from his arm and walking toward the entrance. She thought she'd somehow, perhaps avoided Henry's question. After ascending two steps, she turned back toward him to thank him and bid him goodbye. As she opened her mouth to do so, he interrupted her yet again.  
  
"Oh, so soon. But you haven't even told me anything about yourself."  
  
Caught and trapped. She'd thought she'd escaped, but his words confirmed that she was wrong. She searched her mind for some meaningless thing to tell him about herself that would seem meaningful enough to satisfy him.  
  
Whilst she was thinking, he continued talking. "How do you expect us to become acquainted if I know nothing of you, Miss Fox?"  
  
"There! That's it!" she thought. The idea came to her at the mention of her name. "You're right," she told him. She paused, pretending to search her mind for something to tell him. "Hmmmmm...alright I've got something."  
  
"Alright! Out with it!" he declared, eagerly awaiting her response.  
  
"My name," she revealed, "my name is not Lily Fox."  
  
"Really?" he replied, looking disappointed, "That's a shame. It's is such a lovely name...well, what is your name then, if not Lily Fox?"  
  
"Josephine," she answered, "Josephine August."  
  
"Ah, francais, non?" he asked, lowering himself to one knee and reaching for her hand. He kissed it and said, "Enchante, Madamoiselle August." Climbing back to his feet and returning to his native language, he stated, "I wonder, Ms. August, if you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner sometime, say, this Thursday, seven o'clock?" After thinking quickly, he did not hesitate to add, "Oh, don't worry, we shan't be dining at my home. I shall take you someplace lovely, and someplace far away from my mother, so please do not let that small trouble affect your decision!"  
  
Lily smiled. "Very well," she said, "I will have dinner with you."  
  
"Dinner," she thought, "it's only dinner. Perhaps he's satisfied now. And besides, it couldn't be so very bad. He's a nice man. Amusing, even. Josephine, you'll be fine. Stop worrying. Just go to this one little dinner."  
  
~***~  
  
The room fell silent with Blink's unfortunate slip of the tongue. The boys that had been laughing and chattering suddenly hushed and turned their eyes toward Spot. It had been nearly two weeks since Spot had stormed out of the theatre, cursing Lily and swearing that he wished to never again set eyes on her. Blink had been rambling on, telling the others about a girl he had met on 47th. She was a chorus girl at The Royale. "Yeah, guys, you'se should see dis one. She's got dis long red hair, and dese big brown eyes. And did I mention dat she's a dansah? Hey, Spot," he yelled across the room, "she's kinda like you're goil Lil-" That was a far as Blink had got before he'd realized his mistake and immediately clamped his jaw shut.  
  
Now, as the room still retained its uncomfortable silence, Blink felt as though he needed to say something to relieve the tension. "Hey, Spot, I'se sawwy. You knows I didn't mean nothin' by it, right?"  
  
"Yeah, shoah, Blink," Spot returned, looking up from his hand of cards and shrugging carelessly as though the situation held no importance. "Hey, why da hell's everybody lookin' at me dat way? I'se fine. See? I ain't gonna cry or nothin'. I ain't no liddle goily. Now, quit starin' at me already foah I gots to bust some heads!"  
  
Though he pretended to be untouched by the statement regarding his former beloved's name, in actuality, the mention of her had jolted him. He saw her face flash in his mind, she was smiling, and the tinkling of her laughter rung in his ears. When the memory of her resurfaced, he felt a twinge in his stomach and his heart went into his throat as he looked up at Blink and tried to conceal his startled expression.  
  
The truth was that he did miss her...a little. Well, maybe more than a little, but why should he not? He had spent four, nearly five months of his life with her. Moment after moment, night after night, week, after weeks, after months. ... He'd built his world around her every movement, so when finally he tore himself away from her, he'd found her absence a bit difficult to bear. It was as though every moment was a painful reminder, mocking him, and constantly resounding of what was not and what could be no longer.  
  
But it was too late now. She'd betrayed him, and that was a crime that he could not forgive. So, Spot instead filled his days and nights with others. Other beautiful girls who were willing to dote on him and considered themselves the most fortunate women in the world to simply hang on his arm for one night. His bed was never empty, but his heart could not help but be. As he lay awake at night in the arms of women who were not Jo and could never measure up to her, he wondered if somehow he'd ever find another who could come close. He wondered how long he'd have to wait before he found her. Sometimes, when he could not help himself, he'd mulled over thoughts of making amends with Lily. Perhaps, if he asked her forgiveness, she'd consider taking him back. But no, who was he kidding? Jo could be as stubborn as he was, and Spot Conlon never asked to be forgiven.  
  
"Hey Race, deal me anudder," Spot said, nodding in Race's direction. The boy passed out another round, and all the boys around the table sat in solemn silence, looking over their hands. "Ah, I'm outta dis one," said Spot in disgust, throwing his cards on the table. He'd had a pair, but his mind was elsewhere, and he could not concentrate on the game.  
  
~***~  
  
The curtain rises. Look out - though dimly lit, the theatre is quite crowded. Wait. Wait for the cue. The first few notes from the piano can be heard. They cease. Smile. Open your mouth. Sing.  
  
"You said to write you a song  
So here this is for you  
So as you toss through those lonely nights  
Jjust know there's someone thinking of you  
Everyone's waiting for the timing to be right  
And we hope it's coming soon  
So just rest your eyes and we'll be in love again"  
  
The audience cheers. Smile wider. Feel their love and adoration. Second verse:  
  
"We talked and the moon was bright  
Your words were glowing as they drifted out of sight"  
  
Look to the left. Henry. He sits at the foot of the stage. As he makes eye contact, he smiles. Waves. Brings his hand to his heart.  
  
"And now the change of season sets in  
Nothing nothing feels just right  
We fear these nights and then we compromise  
And the morning always comes  
So just rest your eyes and we'll be in love"  
  
Instrumental break. Smile. Wave to the audience. Blow them kisses. Another wave. They are on their feet. Henry stands with them. See something fall at your feet. A red rose. More roses fall. Everyone is tossing them. Henry smiles again, a rose in hand. He tosses it. Catch it. Don't let it touch the ground. It falls into your hands. As it does, a single thorn pricks. Startled. A trickle of red blood runs from your finger. The music plays on. Look at Henry. He still smiles and waves. A white lily falls at your feet. Singular. Perfect and pure. Look at it. You can't take your eyes from it.  
  
Search the audience. Where did it come from? Your eyes scan the crowd and are met by gray-blue eyes of another. Spot. He holds another lily. He nods. Dropping Henry's rose, you bend. Pick up the lily. Bring it to your chest. The audience becomes displeased. Hear their dissenting restless murmurs. They grumble and boos escape their lips. Why? Confusion. Though their displeasure, you sing again. Your eyes never leave Spot. Finish the song. Softly, slowly...  
  
"So just rest your eyes and then we'll be in love  
Just rest your eyes and then we'll be in love again.."  
  
The lily. A single, white lily. Perfect and pure.  
  
Lily awoke breathless. She sat in bed, trying to make sense of the world around her. She looked at her hands, expecting to find the lily on one of them. Upon finding nothing, she closed her eyes again. It had been another dream. Just another one of her nightmares. They had been coming more frequently lately. Each one becoming more vivid, more real. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Looking around her empty room, they fell on the bouquet of red roses that Henry had sent backstage that evening. It now rested on her dresser, staring at her. From across the room, she could make out the corner of the white envelope that she had tucked under the vase. Henry's letter.  
  
She had been seeing Henry for nearly two months. They'd dined at expensive restaurants, and he'd taken her to the theatre, the opera, the ballet. They'd spend quiet evenings chatting with his "dreaded parental figures," as he'd liked to call them, and took long strolls through Central Park. He taken her to see the houses he'd designed, and made her laugh uncontrollably with his tales of their imperfections and disasters he'd had in constructing one or two of them. He'd been the perfect gentleman and won Lily over with his abundant charm and quick wit. His warm and ready smile, golden red hair, and blue green eyes made him quite attractive, and Lily found herself growing more than accustomed to his face. She was taken with him, to say the least. She thought him utterly dashing and romantic, and found herself eagerly anticipating the moments when he'd steal a kiss while no one was looking. Henry was in love with her. He took every chance given to him to tell her how beautiful she was, how clever her jokes were, how intelligent her insights were, and most of all how much he'd fallen in love with her. His devotion could not be questioned.  
  
He was perfect. She couldn't help describing him as anything but. He was everything she thought she could ever wish for in a man. And most importantly, he fit into her plan. He was a fulfillment of her goals and aspirations - an answer to her prayers, perhaps. It seemed as though life were finally falling into place. Finally. Wasn't it time? Hadn't she struggled enough? Hadn't she fought hard enough for it?  
  
But the dream? What did it mean? And Spot. She thought about Spot. She thought about him constantly. Try as she may, she could not prevent herself from doing so, or stop herself once the thoughts entered her mind. She shouldn't though. She shouldn't think of him. He certainly wasn't thinking about her. She would never see or speak to him ever again. He was lost to her now, and he'd wanted it that way. What was the sense in considering anything more? What was the sense in causing the pang of hurt in her chest to reappear? To flood her mind with memories that made her long for things she would not and could not have? No. There was no sense in that. There was only sense in Henry. Only Henry.  
  
She sighed as she thought about the white envelope and what was inside. "No," she said to herself, "Not tonight. I'll think about it tomorrow."  
  
~***~  
  
The band finished off the last three notes of the song. Lily smiled and waved to the crowd. She took her bows and then hurriedly walked off the stage. As soon as she was behind the curtain, she quickly reached down and yanked off her left shoe. Angrily she threw it to the floor and began to unbuckle the right. When her feet were finally free of the shoes, she breathed a deep sigh and leaned against the wall behind her.  
  
"What happened out there?"  
  
"Huh?" Lily said questioningly to the inquiries of Faye who had appeared before her. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You were off. Couldn't you tell? What's wrong with you?" Faye asked with a worried look in her eyes.  
  
"Oh, nothing, it's just these shoes." Lily gestured to the shoes strewn on the floor. "They're completely horrid! They're at least two sizes too small. I tried to ignore them, but all I could think about was finishing so I could take them off!"  
  
Faye's eyes narrowed. "Do you take me for an idiot? Really, do you honestly believe that I am a fool?"  
  
"God, my head hurts Faye. What the devil do you mean by that?" Lily returned.  
  
"You're lying to me. There's something you're not telling me and you're attempting to cover it up with a story about your shoes. Blame the shoes all you want, Lily, but they're not the real cause. Now, I'm going to ask you again, and I expect you to answer with something a bit more honest. Is something wrong?"  
  
Lily sighed in frustration. "Faye, I told you! Nothing is bloody wrong with me! Nothing! Now, would you...would you just leave me alone?"  
  
She turned to go, and as she did, Faye crossed her arms and shouted angrily at her, "I do not believe a word of it!"  
  
Lily stopped and turned back toward her friend. She could see the hurt in Faye's eyes. She hadn't meant to lie to her, not to her dearest friend. She'd only wished to, well, simply not speak of it. Not yet. But Faye's expression convinced her that she had to, whether she wanted to or not.  
  
"Faye," she said slowly, her dark eyes meeting Faye's green ones. "Faye, I'm going to marry Henry Brannick."  
  
"What?" Faye asked, incredulously.  
  
"Henry Brannick...." Lily's voice trailed off to a mere whisper, "He's asked me to marry him and I've accepted."  
  
~***~  
  
To be continued in the Conclusion... 


	10. Part X

Part X  
  
Spot leaned in to kiss his female companion. She reached up to run her hands through his hair and down his bare back. Without breaking the kiss, Spot reached down and pulled the thin sheet over their heads. The girl giggled as she ran her slender hands through his dirty blonde hair again. She cooed and pulled him down on top of her, running her fingertips up and down his back. Spot's lips grazed her cheekbone. He moved his mouth down toward her ear and moaned softly. He took a deep breath and could smell the warm fragrance of her honey-coloured hair. He closed his eyes and took another breath full of the warm fragrance. Eyes still half closed, he reached for her face and touched her soft hair. His hand strayed down her neck to her shoulder. He bent forward and kissed the soft flesh at her collarbone. Closing his eyes again, the girl in his arms became someone else - someone more familiar. He sighed deeply, giving himself over to the image in his head. "Jo." he whispered into her ear.  
  
"What?!" the girl suddenly yelled, jolting him from his fantasy. She sat up abruptly, and pushed Spot off of her. "What did you call me?"  
  
"Huh?" Spot asked, hazy as to what was happening.  
  
"Jo!" she said, sounding annoyed, "You called me Jo!"  
  
"No, I didn't. You musta hoid me wrong!"  
  
"No, I think I heard you perfectly!" She pushed the sheets off of her angrily, and climbed out of the bed. After she stood, she picked her clothes up off of the floor and quickly began to dress herself.  
  
"Naw, naw. Come on, Delores! It was just a mistake! It didn't mean nothin'!" Spot called to her from the bed. He patted the pillow, "Come back tah bed, will ya?"  
  
"Ha! That's funny! I most certainly will not!" Delores buttoned her blouse and began searching for her shoes. Sitting down on the nearby chair, she began put one on and began to lace it. "I should have known better! My sister warned me. 'Delores, don't even think about getting entangled with Spot Conlon! He's sure to break your heart. He's no good.' But did I listen? No! I was foolish enough to think that I might mean something to you." She tied the laces on her right shoe and then stood up to leave. "But now, I see that I was wrong!" She reached for the doorknob and opened the door.  
  
"Delores! Delores, baby, don't do dis!" Spot scrambled out of the bed to try to stop her. He was able to get one foot on the floor, but the other got tangled in the bedsheet and immediately tripped him. "Delores - ow!" Spot hit the floor with a loud thud. "Shit!" Hurrying to his feet, he ran to the door to see Delores descending the stairs. "Delores!" he uttered one last plea. Seeing that she had no intend of stopping or turning around, he yelled out, "Fine den! Keep runnin! I don't need ya! I nevah needed ya! Dere'e plenty of goils out dere!" Some of the boys had come out of the room across the hall to investigate the commotion taking place at the staircase. They looked at Spot wide-eyed and inquisitive. "Whaddaya lookin' at?" Spot spat at them angrily. They didn't dare move or flinch, but continued to stand like statues, barely breathing and completely silent. Each fearing he might do something to further anger his leader. Spot mumbled obscenities under his breath, and then stormed off into his room slamming the door behind him. ~***~  
  
"And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the Mantovanni Theatre is proud to present Miss Lily Fox! Unfortunately, tonight is Miss Fox's last performance. Please join us in bidding her a fond farewell and let her know how much she will be missed!"  
  
Lily stepped out from behind the curtain wearing a long red dress. The spotlight focused on her. Its light caught the facets in the large stone in her engagement ring and it glinted and glimmered as much as the light in her eyes. She smiled at Henry, who was sitting in the front row, and made her way to the center of the stage. The music started and she began to sing a song that was an old favourite of her. She had been performing it since the very start of her career at the Mantovanni Theatre.  
  
"If... I.... ever fall in love again,  
  
It'll be with someone just like you.  
  
I don't say that I'm in love again  
  
But on the day you came my way, I knew.  
  
If I ever fall in love again,  
  
This is just the way it ought to be,  
  
But if it's really love again,  
  
I'll leave to fate, I'd rather wait and see."  
  
After the second verse was sung, the rest of the girls stepped out from behind the curtain They gathered around Lily and began to sing along with her.  
  
"How can I know  
  
When my head is saying no  
  
And my heart's telling me that it's real?  
  
Can it be wrong  
  
If I burst into song  
  
At the wonder of feeling the way  
  
That I suddenly feel?  
  
"If I ever fall in love again  
  
I shall know exactly what to do.  
  
And when I fall in love again  
  
I know it must be someone just like you.  
  
'The way that I suddenly feel!  
  
"If I ever fall in love again  
  
I shall know exactly what to do.  
  
And when I fall in love again  
  
I know it must be someone just like you."  
  
After they sung the last refrain, the audience stood and cheered. Lily and her fellow performers joined hands and took their last bow together. It was then that Lily began to feel the pang in her stomach: the twisting twinge of overwhelming nostalgia. This was her last time standing on this stage with her fellow performers. The last time. This was the last time she would look out on an audience that stood to cheer and applaud her. The last time. Her mind flashed back to the first time she had stood where she stood now. She remember the stage fright and nervousness that make her stumble over her words, but she also remembered quivering with the excitement and lightheaded feeling of sheer joy that worked its way into her blood and made her crave the stage even more.  
  
She had informed Henry of her intentions to pursue serious acting after they were married, and he supported her wholeheartedly. But as wonderful as theatricals might be, it would never feel the same as it felt at that moment. It would never be so raw, so unashamedly glorifying, so light in manner. She had yet to leave, but that did not stop her from missing the theatre, her home, more than she could express. She looked out onto the audience again and saw Henry smiling at her. She waved and returned his smile. She then let her eyes wander to the right balcony, to the empty chair where Spot had been accustomed to sitting. Spot. She lowered her eyes to the floor as a feeling of regret and want overtook her. She would never see Spot again. She laughed to herself. "And the better I am for it," she thought to herself, "He's just a pigheaded, conceited kid. Nothing would have come of it anyway. He's gone, and you should be glad to be rid of him." She told herself these things over and over, but secretly knew that she truly did not believe them.  
  
Lily raised her hands in the air to quiet the crowd. As she did, the audience's cheers and applause began to subside until finally the room was nearly silent. Smiling, Lily began to speak, "As you all know, this is my last performance...And in honor of it, I've decided to do something a bit different. The next song that I am going to sing is very special to me because I wrote it. This is the first time I've ever sung it onstage, and since you have all been very kind to me throughout the years, there could be no one better to hear it's debut." She signaled the band leader and soft piano music began to play.  
  
Lily felt her heart began to pound and swell. She was to sing in her native French, something she had never done before. She had translated the lyrics to the song for no one. There were a complete mystery to all that were about to hear them, but to Lily, there were a pouring out of her heart, a spilling of her secret thoughts and desires. And though they could not understand, all of New York was about to see inside of her. She opened her mouth and let the words flow from her heart,  
  
"Un jour il viendra.  
  
Mon bel amour d'hier  
  
L'amour reviendra  
  
Par un jour de lumière.  
  
Dans les heures qui viennent.  
  
Ou bien l'année prochaine  
  
Peu m'importe j'attends,  
  
Car c'est l'homme que j'aime.  
  
Et je l'attendrai mème plus longtemps.  
  
Un jour il viendra,  
  
Mon bel amour d'hier.  
  
Et demain l'amour renaîtra.  
  
Un beau jour de lumière.  
  
Le bonheur suprème.  
  
Et les nuits qui s'enchainent.  
  
Une a une longtemps.  
  
Dans les heures qui viennent.  
  
Ou bien l'année prochaine.  
  
Je l'attends.  
  
Un jour il viendra.  
  
Mon bel amour d'hier.  
  
L'amour reviendra  
  
Par un jour de lumière.  
  
Si c'est un rêve.  
  
Faites qu'il dure encore,  
  
Oh mon rêve.  
  
Faites qu'il dure encore.  
  
Un jour il viendra.  
  
Mon bel amour d'hier.  
  
L'amour reviendra  
  
Par un jour de lumière.  
  
Si c'est un rêve.  
  
Faites qu'il dure encore,  
  
Oh mon rêve.  
  
Faites qu'il dure encore,  
  
Un jour."  
  
~***~  
  
Lily stood fully dressed at her vanity. She was placing her the last of jewelry and small belongings in a red velvet-lined box when she heard a light rapping at the door. Without looking up, she called out, "Come in!"  
  
She heard the loud creaking of the door's hinges as it swung open. "Can I come in?" a familiar female voice asked softly. Lily looked up into the mirror in front of her to see who was standing in the door case and was met by an intense pair of green eyes.  
  
"Eva," Lily said without turning around. "Yes, come in, of course."  
  
Eva smiled softly and stepped just inside the doorframe. "I've come to say, well to say goodbye, I suppose." She took a quick look around the empty room. "It looks like you're nearly finished packing. All ready to go?"  
  
"Yes," Lily answered, "This is the last of it." Lily sighed. "I feel so disoriented. My entire life is in trunks!"  
  
Eva laughed. "Where's the wedding going to be held again?"  
  
"At Henry's family's country estate in Northfield, Vermont. After that, we plan to tour Europe for a few months. Henry's been offered a position in London, so after our vacation, we plan to find a home in London. The wedding's not for another three weeks, but they want me to come early to meet all of his family and to make what they keep calling 'last minute final preparations' for the wedding. I say that anything that takes place three weeks ahead of time does not qualify as last minute final preparations, but who's to argue when they are paying for everything?" Lily laughed, and Eva joined in.  
  
When the laughter subsided, Eva looked around again as though she were uncomfortable. She cleared her throat several times, and then finally spoke. "Listen Lily," she said slowly, "I realized that we weren't the best of friends, and I know that I certainly had a hand in that.." Lily listened intently, in disbelief that such things were coming from the mouth of someone she thought had hated her. "..and I just want to say that I'm sorry for that. And.."  
  
"There's more?" Lily thought to herself.  
  
"And.I know it sounds a bit, well, brash of me to ask this, but what ever happened to Spot?"  
  
Lily's eyes immediately went to the floor. She turned around to face Eva. "Well..." she said, clearing her throat a few times, "Things between Spot and I just didn't work out I suppose. I guess it just wasn't meant to be."  
  
"Oh," Eva returned.  
  
Lily gave her a half smile, and then turned back to finish packing the last of her things.  
  
"You know," Eva continued, "I think that he really did love you. I know you're wondering how I, of all people, could possibly be informed enough to make this kind of observation. Yes, of course you are." She laughed nervously and shifted from one foot to another. She was obviously uncomfortable, Lily noted as she watched her fidget and wring her hands. "You see, Sarah, um, Sarah Jacobs and I have been close friends, since..since well, childhood. And Jack, you know, Jack Kelly? He was one of Spot's best friends. Spot told him everything, and well, Jack would tell Sarah, of course. And well..yes.you know the rest. Anyway, from what Jack said, Spot really did love you."  
  
"Well," Lily replied in a low tone, "He certainly had a strange way of showing it."  
  
"That's because he's Spot. You know, he nearly killed a guy from Queens trying to defend you honor."  
  
Lily sighed and closed her eyes as images from that night filled her mind. She remembered Spot telling her that he couldn't come that night - that he had business to take care of. She laughed. It was horrible: horrible that he was violent and that he beat up kids in the street. But in a way, she thought it dashing and heroic. Her mind replayed that night: opening her eyes to see Spot standing above her, so unexpected. His cut lip, his black eye..the bruise on his side. She could taste the blood in her mouth again, his blood, with its metallic taste flavor/ washing into her mouth each time she had kissed him that night. Each time she kissed him. She heard his voice in her head, "Ain't nothin' hoits..."  
  
"Spot hasn't had the easiest life, you know," Eva continued, "Well, none of them have, but Spot..His father used to beat him and his mother when he was little. His mother was able to get out...she left one day without telling anyone, leaving Spot to suffer all of his father's anger. So, he ran away and ended up in the Refuge for pickpocketing. The other kids there were all bigger than him and they beat the hell out of the poor kid for fun. All that abuse for so long...I think that made Spot the way he is. I think, somehow, that he can't express himself or behave like normal people can because of that."  
  
Lily remembered the marks on his back, the scars she used to run her fingers over late at night when he slept and she couldn't. She had guess that they were from fighting or maybe from rough housing with his boys, but she never could have imagined their true source. All of his secrets - all of the things he'd kept from her and never dared tell her. She often found herself becoming angry with Spot for never opening up and trusting her enough to tell her anything about himself. Now, knowing the truth, she felt petty and ashamed.  
  
"So, when you think of him, please just keep that in mind. Try to forgive him maybe." Eva shrugged. "I've got to be going now. But, Lily, I'm very happy for you, and I know that you'll be happy with Henry."  
  
Lily said nothing. She stared straight ahead, and slowly reached up and pulled the veil from her hat over her face. "Yes, I'm sure I will," she said softly, "Thank you." Eva turned to go. "Eva!" Lily called out after her. Eva stopped and turned around. "Will you please tell Mr. Mantovanni that I am ready to go?"  
  
~***~  
  
The loud whistles of the trains pierced the air as steam surrounded them. Lily stood on the platform with Henry at her side and Faye standing before her. She was doing her best not to cry as she looked into Faye's green eyes. She could tell that Faye was doing the same.  
  
"Oh Faye!" she said, taking her dearest friend's hands into her own, "What will I do without you?"  
  
"I don't know!" Faye exclaimed, near tears, "What will I do without you?"  
  
"Don't you two worry," Henry said, "We shall buy Faye a train ticket so that she may come to the wedding. And after that, she is welcome to visit us as much as she likes!"  
  
Lily offered Henry a sad smile of gratitude. The train attendant bellowed a call to board the train. It was then that Lily lost her composure. She let the tears slide down her cheek as she fell into Faye's arms and embraced her. "Faye," she said, "I can't believe that I'm leaving!"  
  
"Oh me neither," said Faye returning the embrace.  
  
"You must do as Henry says! You must come and visit us often!" Lily exclaimed. The train's whistle began to blow. "Oh, I will write you every chance I get!"  
  
"You'd better," returned Faye.  
  
Henry put his arm around Lily's waist. "It's time to go now, Josie," he said gently.  
  
"I'm going to miss you so much!" Lily embraced Faye one last time and kissed both of her cheeks.  
  
"I'll miss you too! Goodbye!" Faye cried, "Goodbye!" Lily allowed herself to be led away from her friend and reluctantly boarded the train, looking over her shoulder and waving to Faye the entire time. When they were aboard the train, Lily rushed to her seat and climbed over to the window. She opened the window and continued waving to Faye. As the train pulled off, she continued to wave and did not stop until Faye and the train station were nothing more than tiny specks on the horizon.  
  
~***~  
  
Spot had stood outside staring at the Mantovanni for nearly a half hour, considering whether or not he wanted to go in. He'd walked away twice only to return to the same spot in which he'd been standing. After several more minutes of arguing with himself, he'd given up and decided to just go in.  
  
Climbing the stairs, he headed for his usual chair in the right balcony. He sat down and waited out the fifteen minutes before it began in silence. When the curtain rose and the band started to play, Spot leaned forward in his chair to rest his arms on the railing in front of him. He watched the first act, a visiting group of comic performers, attentively, but they were not who he had come to see. After the comedians were finished and the curtain had fallen, Spot waiting in eager anticipation for the act he knew would shortly be following.  
  
When the curtain rose again and the band began to play a lively number, Spot watched carefully as ten girls in colourful dresses sashayed out. He searched the stage, investigating each girl's face. Where was she? Was that her behind the redhead? No. Maybe she was - no. Spot wrinkled his brow in frustration and confusion. Suddenly, he remembered. Jo didn't dance with the other Bellas anymore. She had her own solo act. Spot sat back in his chair with relief and crossed his arms over his chest. He unenthusiastically and halfheartedly watched the rest of the girls perform out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Perhaps he could see Jo after the show. Did he really want to? His head tried to decline, but his heart whispered "yes" to him. How could he see her? He could wait outside by the backstage door and hope that she would come out of it. No, he could be waiting there for hours. Maybe a time limit - yes that's it! He would wait there for forty-five minutes, and if she had not come out after forty five minutes, then he would take it as a sign that he was not meant to see her. But what would he say to her? Would she even speak to him? He tapped his foot subconsciously in time with the music as he formulated a plan in his head.  
  
As the curtain fell once more, Spot felt his stomach fill with nervous butterflies. Jo was next, and his heart leapt a little at the thought of it. What was the matter with him? This was nothing special. After all, he had seen Jo perform a million times. He dismissed his nervousness, but soon found himself perched on the end of his chair when he saw the curtain begin to rise again.  
  
When a female figure appeared on the stage, Spot wrinkled his brown in confusion. This was not Jo - this girl had blonde hair and was taller than Jo. Well, he thought to himself, maybe this is something special - maybe Jo's going to do a song with this girl - yes, maybe she's just waiting for her cue to come onto the stage. Spot watched the stage intently, waiting for any sign of her. He sat through the blonde's first song, and then watched as she did another, with no sign of Jo. Where was she? Jo had never missed a performance before. Was she sick? Had something happened to her? Slowly disappointment and worry filled and overtook his mind.  
  
Outside of the backstage door, Spot leaned against the brick wall of the neighbouring building and smoked a cigarette as he waited. He was finishing a second when the door opened and a tall red-haired, freckle faced girl walked out. Spot recognized her immediately as one of Lily's fellow dancers, but he couldn't remember her name. He thought that perhaps he had even seen her around with one of his boys. Yes, he thought so. But what the hell was her bloody name? As he searched his mind desperately, the girls confident stride was taking her farther and farther away from him. Finally he simply yelled out, "Miss!" and hoped she know he was talking to her.  
  
To his relief, the girl turned around to look at him. "Yes?" she asked.  
  
"Um, good mornin' miss," Spot said, tipping his hat to her, "I was wonderin' if you might be able tah tell me why Lily Fox was not on the stage tahday?"  
  
The red head smiled. "You're Spot Conlon, aren't you?" she said in a distinctive Brooklyn tongue.  
  
Spot looked surprised. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, dat's me. How'd ya know?"  
  
She smiled again. "Well, word gets around...I'm Maggie." She looked around, deliberately avoiding Spot's eyes as she said, "I, um, hate to be the one to tell you this, but Lily doesn't work here anymore."  
  
"Whaddaya mean? Did she get annuder job or somethin'?" Spot asked, his voice showing subtle strains of concern.  
  
"No," Maggie said softly, "she didn't get another job. She actually, well, she's getting married, Spot....to Henry Brannick. Have you heard of him? No? Well, yes, that's why she's not here anymore... I'm sorry."  
  
Spot swallowed hard and tried to act calm. He shrugged, "Ah, it's nothin'. Hey, I'm sorry tah botha ya. I gotta be goin' now." With that, he quickly walked past the girl. He walked quickly, his gait growing faster and faster, pushing past people that stood in his path. When he was a block away, he ducked into an empty alleyway. He slumped against a brick wall, and took off his cap to run his hands through his light streaked hair. Putting his cap back on, he spied some rotten planks of board out of the corner of his eye. He walked over to them and drove his right fist through one of them. Facing the brick wall again, he leaned against it once more, burying his face in his arms. Married. Lily was getting married.  
  
"He some richie, no doubt," he muttered to himself. "Hell, dat's what she wanted anyway." He turned around, pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it. As he took rapid drags from it, he tried to sort out his feelings. He didn't feel completely sad, nor was he utterly furious. He was somewhat stunned, but the news did not come as a shock. He expected that it would happen. He just hadn't expected it so soon. After more careful deliberation, he decided that he felt nothing - he simply felt empty. Maybe there was nothing to feel, nothing to say or do. Or perhaps, he could not feel. He laughed at the irony of it all. He couldn't feel. No. How could he? He'd left his heart outside the backstage door of the theatre for all of New York to trample upon.  
  
~***~  
  
Twilight was falling upon the city. The lamps were being lit, illuminating the streets in the warm glow as Spot finished selling his last edition of the evening paper. He watched the dark come down around him and wondered why he always chose the same path back to the lodging house. It was a strange path to take: the long way around, the course that always brought him to stand in the same spot on the same street, staring at the Mantovanni. What was he looking for? What was he waiting for? The answer was nothing, of course. There was nothing there for him anymore. Yet, day after day, his steps took him to the same corner on the same street. And he paused to watch and wait.  
  
Spot lingered only a few minutes that night. He'd just begun to take his first step to leave when a black coach pulled up to the theatre. He knew he should probably be going, but his curiosity bid him to stay. He watched as the coachman hopped down and walked around the far side to help his passenger out. He could only see feet moving under the coach, so he cocked his head to the side and waited for the coach to leave. He had not been waiting long when the coachman climbed back onto his perch. Spot heard him whistle to the horse and the slap of the reins on the horse's back. Asit passed, he made out a lone female figure with a dark coat standing with her back to him. At her feet were trunks and baggage. She was still, unmoving as she gazed toward the door of the theatre. Could it be, Spot wondered. "Nah," he told himself, "Stop bein stupid. Dat ain't her."  
  
He turned go, but something made him stop and cast one last look toward the girl. When he did, he was met by a pair of dark eyes that went right through him. Jo.  
  
He felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard and wondered if he could make a break for it and get away. No. It was too late now. He'd look like a coward if he turned to run. But somehow, he felt that he couldn't walk away. There was a force exuding from her that was magnetic. It caught him and drew him across the street.  
  
When Spot was standing before her, he could not remember how he had gotten there. Had he walked, step after step. to her? It seemed as though he had blinked one moment and in the next, she was in front of him. Words escaped him, but Lily rescued him from the uncomfortable silence. "Hello Spot Conlon," she said softly, her gaze still locked with his.  
  
"Hello Jo," he returned. Working up his courage, he asked, "Mind if I ax what you're doin' heah wit all dat luggage?"  
  
She laughed. Her small, clear laugh that sounded to Spot like the tinkling of bells, surged though him, making the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I, um," she began, "I'm standing here waiting for the right moment to walk through those doors and ask to have my job back."  
  
"But I though you were... Maggie, she um..she told me that ya were getting married. I doan understand why you need dis crap job if you'e-"  
  
Jo interrupted him. "There's something about you, Conlon. And I don't know what exactly it is, but you have this quality, this magnificent ability to make me want to tell you everything."  
  
Spot jammed his hands into his pockets and narrow his eyes. He looked into her eyes, searching for the meaning behind her casual remark.  
  
"And now, even after all that's happened, I still find myself wanting to tell you everything."  
  
Spot stared at her, awaiting the next words to come from her lips.  
  
Lily lowered her head. "I couldn't," she said, "I couldn't marry him. As I sat on the train, hour after hour, with nothing to do but think, I came to realize that marrying Henry would simply be wrong. I cannot lie - I was quite fond of him and found him utterly attractive and terribly dashing. He was everything that I had ever thought I wanted, and over time, I was certain that I could grow to love him. But that I was just it - I had to grow to love him. I didn't love him then, at that moment. And I could not convince myself that it would be right to marry someone that I had to grow to love. Henry deserves better. He deserves someone who love him - who will live and die for him. But I am not that person. Poor Henry, he was devastated. But he understood - he believes in free will and isn't a man to chain a woman to him because he can. So, at the next stop, I got off the train. Henry, always the gentleman, bade me goodbye, kissed me on the cheek, and gave me enough money for a train to wherever my heart desired.  
  
"I sat in the train station for an eternity trying to figure out where exactly my heart desired to go. Finally after hours of thought, I was able to come up with two places - one where my heart wanted to go, and one where it needed to go. Half of a day later, I found myself on a street in Charleston, staring at my childhood home. I stood there for a while - just staring and feeling myself waver between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. And then suddenly I heard, "Miss August? Miss August, is that you?  
  
"As it turns out, my uncle ran into a bit of trouble with the law after he 'accidentally' killed the young husband trying to defend the honour of his new bride my uncle had taken an interest in. He's now in a state prison, serving a life sentence, fortunately for me. And, well, I suppose that little incident changed my father's mind about his daughter's integrity. He's written me letter after letter that I've not received until now since no one knew my whereabouts. No doubt they're apologies, but I've not yet opened them. I don't know if I am ready to see what's inside, if I'm ready to forgive him. Aunt Helaine, unfortunately, passed on last year. She only had one son, and since he, obviously disgraced her precious family name, she named only one sole heir to her entire estate in her will. Perhaps to compensate for all of the hell she made me endure. I, now, can list myself among the wealthy. She's left me not only her fortune, but both her house in Charleston and a country estate just outside of Lyon. The only stipulation is that I cannot inherit any of it until I'm twenty-one, and then after that, it will take six more months to straighten out all of the legal details. So, I will not receive anything until about a year from now. Therefore, I came back here, still poor, and madly hoping to get my job back. Which brings us to here and now, and me standing before you." She paused. "So now I must pose a better question: What are you doing around here anyway?"  
  
His gaze shifted to his feet. "Aw, well, ya know...jis walkin' by, on my way back tah dah lodgin' house." Spot looked up to find Lily's eyes staring through him again, and he knew he'd have to tell her the truth. "No, dat's a lie. I come heah every day. It's a good piece outta dah way, but I keep finding meself walking by. I guess..I guess, well," he sighed deeply, "I miss ya, Jo. I do. I can't help dat. I jus- I just.." He took his cap off of his head, ran his hand through his hair, and then put it back on.  
  
"You just what?" Lily questioned.  
  
"I just.."Spot knew he'd have to answer. He knew he'd have to tell her the truth. God, why couldn't he speak?!? "I just....I love ya, Jo. I did some pretty stupid t'ings, and I know dat. An' I'm sorry. But I nevah stopped lovin' ya. And I just want - I just want you. More dan anyt'ing."  
  
"You want me?" Spot nodded. "I don't think so. I don't think you really want me. It's just the nostalgia speaking. It's made me beautiful and desirable to you now, but it'll soon wear off. Besides, you're Spot Conlon. Infamous lover and romancer of every girl in New York. You don't need me. Your bed's never been empty before, so why should it now?"  
  
Spot laughed and shook his head. He kicked a rock lying on the ground. "Dat's where ya got me wrong. I ain't no lover." He laughed. "Hell, I can count dah goils on one hand that I've had. One hand, Jo..."  
  
"But-" Lily tried to interrupt.  
  
"No, no," Spot continued, "I ain't gonna lie to ya, Jo, I've flitted around with more women dan you'se can evah imagine. One heah, one dere, a night, a week, sometimes two. An a lot o'dem did share my bed, I suppose. But jis to sleep. But think of it Jo...How big of a sissy would Spot Conlon, leadah o' Brooklyn, look like if everybody knew that he jis' didn't much like sleepin' alone?" He paused. "Well, come tah think of it, Jo, I lied to ya just now. It's more like one hand and one fingah. Six goils, Jo. Six. Two befoah ya. And den, tree aftah ya to try to make ya go away."  
  
"Like that redhead?"  
  
"Yeah, she's one o' em." Spot felt his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. He hadn't thought that Lily had gotten a close enough look to remember that one.  
  
"Oh," she responded looking away. After a while, she asked, "Well did it work?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, time heals all wounds."  
  
Spot wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "It won't."  
  
"What are you saying?  
  
"I'm saying, well, I'm sayin dat I tried dat. God, I tried dat. I tried tah stop. I did. I did everyt'ing I could think of to get ya outta my head, but it don't work worth nothin'."  
  
Lily looked intently at him, her eyes burning his. "You don't know what you're asking," she muttered in a low tone, "You don't know what you're asking me to do! God! After everything, after all the accusations, the mistrust, the betrayal! You think you can just tell me that you love me and that you want me to come back to you and expect that I'll just coming running back that very moment?"  
  
"I dunno. Yeah....maybe." Spot shifted his weight from one foot to another, obviously uneasy.  
  
"It's not that easy, Spot. It just isn't. I've spent, what? Four months? I've spent the last four months trying to make myself not care about you! Trying to forget that you ever existed, trying to erase you from my mind! Now, you come waltzing back into my life, claiming to love me and telling me how you need me. How you want me to attach myself to you again. Well, it's not that simple! I cannot just turn my entire life around and be devoted to you fully again. I don't know that I even want to, after everything that's happened. I'm not certain that I want to invest so much of myself into something that potentially won't last! I don't know that I want to chance suffering all of that pain again!"  
  
Spot was silent. It wasn't going as he had planned. He had been certain that if she loved him as much as he loved her, there would be no question in her mind! She would throw herself into his open arms, and everything could go back to the way it was. That's what he had hoped would happen. But, then, she had never actually said that she loved him, had she?  
  
"What if I said no," Lily suddenly asked, staring at Spot's worn and dirty shoes. She looked up into his gray-blue eyes that were now misted with confusion. "Did you think of that Spot? Did you? But, ha, I'm sorry, I forget - no one says no to Spot Conlon. Right? Well, what if I dared to say no? Hmm? What if I just said it?"  
  
" Den I suppose dere ain't nothin' I can do about it, is dere? Say whatcha want Jo."  
  
It was a long and painful silence for Spot until she finally spoke again. "Alright. I will. No." The word cut through him like sharpened daggers. His heart fell into his stomach and a gnawing pain began to grow in his chest.  
  
"No?"  
  
"Yes, that's right. No. "  
  
"Well, den I suppose...I suppose..oh fuck it. Dere ain't nothin' I can say or do tah change yer mind, is dere?" Spot asked, somewhat helplessly. Lily shook her head. "Well, den, there ain't no sense in tryin.' I knows when I'se beat."  
  
"You aren't beat. You're 18 years old. You've your entire life ahead of you," she paused to laugh and lower her voice, "You'll forget about me."  
  
"You'll forget about me," she said again. Picking up two of her bags. She passed him on her way to the door, but looked over her should to utter a faint, almost inaudible, "Goodbye Spot Conlon."  
  
~***~  
  
Spot did not turn to face her, nor did her return her goodbye. He stood, unflinchingly still for several moments, trying to regain his composure. His fists clinched as he swallowed back the cries that tried to escape from his throat. Tears stung his eyes, but he held them back. He did not cry. He would not cry. He drew a ragged breath, and slowly began to move one foot forward, and then another. Each step took him farther away from a place he swore he'd never set eyes on again.  
  
"Spot!" He heard her voice calling out to him from behind. What did she want now? What could she possibly have left to say to him? He could not bring himself to face her again, so he instead paused and waited for her to continue.  
  
"Spot." She was right behind him now. He could hear her quickened breath. "Spot," she said again, this time more softly, "What if I said yes?"  
  
"What if?" he asked through his teeth.  
  
"Look at me," she said, and he obeyed. "Promise me," she said, her voice starting to slightly waver, "promise me that it will be different. That things will turn out better this time."  
  
"Dat ain't mine to give," he responded, "I ain't God, ya know."  
  
"I know." She sighed. "Well," she began again, "promise me that you want them to."  
  
Spot didn't answer immediately. He unclenched his fists and cupped her face in his hands. Looking into her eyes, his voice warm and solemn with the most sincere honesty, he said, "More than anything."  
  
Lily sniffled and then a tear trickled down her face. She angrily wiped it away. "This is so absurd. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come back. I shouldn't be standing here throwing myself wholeheartedly back into your arms.."  
  
"Are you throwin' yaself back into me arms?" Spot asked with a grin.  
  
She sniffled again. "I suppose I am. Ha! This is crazy. Do you know that? Crazy!"  
  
"Jo," he said softly, leaning in to kiss her.  
  
Lily stopped him. "One thing," she said, "My name. Call me Josephine, just once. No one's said it such a long time."  
  
Spot cocked his head to the side and grinned at her again. "Alright," he said and then brought his mouth to her ear to whisper, "Josephine. But you gotta tell me somethin' too."  
  
"What's that?" she asked.  
  
"Tell me dat you love me."  
  
"I love you."  
  
And under a newly-lit streetlamp, with trunks at their feet, and passersby walking by and looking on disapprovingly, Spot took Josephine into his arms and kissed her.  
  
~***~  
  
Mantovanni was more than happy return Jo's former position to her, but she agreed to come back only if one condition was met: she would still retain her solo act, but she insisted on being allowed to perform with the Bellas again.  
  
She stood onstage, feeling as though she had never left. She and her fellow performers were dancing to a lively tune - the Maple Leaf Rag. It was a new song, something audiences were not accustomed to hearing in the vaudeville halls. Upon returning to New York, Malcolm, the pianist, played it for her. She had instantly fallen in love with and in no time, had choreographed a number to it and convinced Mantovanni to let them perform it.  
  
As she energetically kicked and stepped to the lively music, she became lost to the sounds of the music, the tapping of the girls' heels on the wooden stage, and the swish of their dresses as they danced. She loved those sounds - the small, insignificant details that comforted her and made her feel alive. She looked down into the front row and was met by smiling blue gray eyes. Spot had abandoned his favourite seat in the balcony for a stage front view. She smiled back at him and winked. As she did, she couldn't help but feel that then, even if it were only for that very moment, everything in the world was right, beautiful, and perfect.  
  
~***~  
  
FIN  
  
AN: Yay! I finished one. I'm going to do another author's note later with some comments on this story, and some thank you's.  
  
As for now, thank you to everyone that's reviewed this. You don't know how much I enjoyed receiving the reviews and how much it helped to write this.  
  
Next up for me: A Rush of Blood to The Head. Stay tuned.  
  
(-all songs from Sarah Brightman.)  
  
*One day he'll return  
One day he'll return  
  
My dear love from yesterday  
  
Love will return  
  
On a day of light  
  
In the hours that come  
  
Or in the coming year  
  
I don't care if I have to wait  
  
Because it is the man I love  
  
And I'll be waiting for him even longer  
One day he'll return  
  
My dear love from yesterday  
  
And tomorrow love will be reborn  
  
One fine light day  
The supreme hapiness  
  
And the nights that follow each other  
  
One after the other for a long time  
  
In the hours that will come  
  
Or in the coming year  
  
I'll be waiting for you  
One day he'll return  
  
My dear love from yesterday  
  
Love will return  
  
On a day of light  
If it's a dream  
  
Make it still last  
  
Oh, my dream  
  
Make it still last  
One day he'll return  
  
My dear love from yesterday  
  
Love will return  
  
On a day of light If it's a dream  
  
Make it still last  
  
Oh, my dream  
  
Make it still last  
  
One day 


	11. Author's Comments

Author's comments on Eyes Closed, Heart Open:  
  
I set out to write a different kind of story. I didn't want to follow any of the normal lines such as the famed "girl runs away from home to join the newsies and fall in love with one" or "rich girl meets and falls in love with poor newsie" or even "the newsies ten years later." I approached it more like literature than a small story. I wanted a well developed story line with a central theme and interesting characters. I must say that sometimes, I was more interested in character development than the actual story.  
  
Anyway, it all started after watching Moulin Rouge for the millionth time. I was dazzle by the idea of the Paris nightclubs and the dancers that lived and worked in them. BANG! FLASH! IDEA! I decided that I would write a story about a chorus girl whom life had not been kind to. I didn't want her life to be as flashy or glamorous or as tragically dramatic as that of the characters in Moulin Rouge. I wanted her to be real. That was another of my primary goals: the story had to seem real. Believable. You had to feel like you knew the character. You had to experience the joy and the pain, to be torn between two equally tempting choices. To feel helpless and empowered. To know that you were a prisoner of your fate, but to be brave enough to do something about it.  
  
I also wanted to have a central theme. After much thinking, I came up with one that could well define the story: money and the power it has on individuals. How it shapes our lives and our aspirations, and how it makes slaves and fools of us without us ever knowing. The summary in itself is a comment on this and also a play on words: We are all bound by our fortunes, and money makes slaves of us all.  
  
Regarding the character, I'd have to say that Jo is, for the most part but not all, reflection of myself. I tend to write all of my leading ladies as reflections of aspects of my own personality. Spot is a further exploration of a character Disney only began to hint at. I wanted to push him further, because I think he's one of those individuals that you love madly at times and hate at others. Henry's source is amusing. I actually based him on Laurie from Little Women. Yes, Christian Bale. (It's like the Six Degrees of Newsies, no?) I had to make him so likable to make Jo's choice a difficult one. Other smaller characters from my other stories appear here also. I have this weird fascination with tying all of my stories together in subtle ways. Which are they? You'll have to wait for the next story to be written. (Hint, hint: take a closer look at the British waitress and Henry's chum from school.)  
  
I want to issue out a huge thanks to all of you who followed this story and gave me feedback.  
  
Runaway - I'm glad you would have killed me if I gave up on it. With my life hanging in the balance, I was definitely motivated to keep writing. Thank you for promptly and faithfully reading and commenting on every chapter. Thank you for being excited to read the next story!  
  
Devonny - Thank you for being blunt. Seriously, Chapter 7 would have been a disaster had you not told me that I killed it. Keep telling me the truth. I like it.  
  
Cyanne - Thanks for just getting it so perfectly! Makes me feel like I've accomplished something.  
  
Writerchick - I'm glad you liked it.  
  
Wisecracker - Thank you for caring. (you know what I mean.)  
  
Everyone else: You are much appreciated. Thank you to all of you.  
  
NEXT STOP: I'm going to write the ultimate songfic. Yes, a songfic like never before - complete with a soundtrack! (I'm excited. Is it obvious?) 


	12. A Note

If you liked it the first time around, you'll like it better the second. Yes, I'm putting out an Author's Cut version of this story. It's easier to read, has better characters, more of a conflict, and has undergone some drastic changes. Includes new scenes, new characters, and a new ending.  
  
Go forth and read! 


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